


Full Velocity:  Finding Salvation

by Vermilionbirdy



Series: Full Velocity [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Consensual Sex, F/M, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilionbirdy/pseuds/Vermilionbirdy
Summary: Trying to make a home on Earth, the Autobots stumble across the lost member of an unknown species.  Everyone must make adjustments and learn to survive on a planet they don't belong.  Very OC centric.
Relationships: Optimus Prime/OC
Series: Full Velocity [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2219034
Comments: 19
Kudos: 7





	1. Impact

**Author's Note:**

> Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB fic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

  
Chapter 1. Impact

XxxX

A town slept in the early morning hours. Streetlamps dotted the darkness in tidy rows, waiting for the sun to rise to blink and darken. A breeze stirred low to the ground, hinting at a cool day. Crickets chirped their romantic interests and a night bird called while hunting. Above it all, the stars shimmered silently against the inky blackness of eternity. Old friends that told the passing of seasons and kept the night creature company.

On a distant hill, a lone figure contemplated the idyllic setting. This far away, she could not pick out individual houses. Even with her unnaturally acute eyesight, details of the town escaped her. She could not tell if the buildings hinted at middle-class suburbia with well-manicured lawns or an economic-post-apocalypse of boarded-up stores and dilapidated neighborhoods.

The traveler turned her eyes away from the garish halogen of the town and bent to pick up the backpack at her feet. She loathed going into the town: the sprawling urban footprint, the press of noise and people – it all made her skin crawl. But trying to live in a hollowed-out log, chasing down the scant prey found in this area didn’t really appeal to her either. If she wanted to be honest with herself, civilization had spoiled her to hot showers, cafes, eclectic boutiques, and air conditioning. So much for being a wild beast of nature.

October winds carried the promising chill of winter, even in this dry land, winter could be cruel, bringing freezing temperatures and snow. She needed a warm place to call home before the cold arrived.

Settling the backpack on her shoulders, the traveler ventured onward to determine the kind of town lay below. The two-lane road offered winding access through the rock scattered hills. Estimating her arrival in the town a couple of hours after sunrise, she stepped onto the black asphalt and started downhill.

"I want a cheeseburger," she said to the empty night. “With red onions, tomatoes, and crispy lettuce. And iced tea and side of fries, with the skin on.” Mentally she counted the cash in her pocket, knowing she would need most of it for rent.

Onward she walked. Her thoughts wandered to the desert town. Tourist brochures showed a Norman Rockwell charm and touted the quaint shopping district. Could not avoid that injection of "quaint" when describing a small town. The map placed the little 'burb in a wide valley, surrounded by desert and feed by Lake Mead. Access to L.A. by interstate did not impress her, actually a black mark against Tranquility. Hopefully, soccer moms and corporate dads inhabited his place; people too wrapped up in their own lives to notice a new, quiet neighbor. Since the terrorist attacks on Mission City and the Hoover Dam, unfamiliar people attracted attention, and she spent a lifetime avoiding attention.

The traveler did not want Tranquility to be like other towns she explored. Paradise became a long row of bars, flanked with enough mobile homes to spawn its own F-5 tornado. Happy Acres had a pig farm in the center of town, the stench of swine waste assaulted the traveler's sensitive sense of smell. To add insult, some elderly woman came out of her house wearing a short housecoat and bent to retrieve the morning paper. Doing so, she showed the world exactly what she was not wearing underneath. The only green in Green Valley belonged to the algae in the park’s pond. She steered away from Crystal Lake, fearing machete-wielding killers. Why could not they give towns accurate names, like Alcoholic's Hell or Muddy Swine Valley or Desperation Meadows or Southern Shit Hole?

The traveler turned her eyes to the heavens offering a silent prayer to whatever gods lived in this parched land. Please let Tranquility at least be tranquil and have a good coffee shop or bookstore. Something that resembles civilization.

The distant noise of an engine interrupted her thoughts. Cocking her head one way, then the other, the traveler pinpointed the vehicle. Behind and approaching. Stepping off the road and onto the gravel shoulder, the traveler continued her journey.

She did not appreciate company. To discourage any troublemakers mistaking her for an easy target, or overzealous do-gooders thinking she needed help, the traveler decided to display a deterrent. She adjusted her shirt, pulling the tail up to expose the grip of a handgun, but it only served as a deterrent. The clip and bullets lay at the bottom of a river in another state. Her real weapon, an antique blade, lay sheathed and hidden between her and her backpack, her hair hiding the hilt. She did not fear human predators. A predator herself, she knew how to intimidate or kill if needed, so fear of the approaching car and its occupants never crossed her mind.

The vehicle came closer. The engine a tinny whine as it struggled across the uneven terrain. High-pitched and rattling, the poor vehicle sounded ill and in need of a good mechanic. She noticed the lack of expected lights bouncing and illuminating the ground. The car traveled without running lights. A concern, but not much of one.  
As a precaution, the traveler stepped further to the outer edge of the gravel shoulder and continued walking, never looking back.

XxxX.

Travis blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to focus on the road in front of him. He already cranked up the air conditioning in this shitty hatchback and the cool air did nothing to help sober him up. In his head, he could hear his girlfriend. That screeching voice telling him what a fuck up he was and how she could do better. The threats to leave angered and frustrated him, yet she always stayed.

A sharp jerk of the steering wheel when the little car crossed the center line. His tires kicked up dirt and gavel when he swerved too far past his lane. A few more zigzagged attempts and Travis pulled the car back under control.

He should have insisted the guys hang out in Tranquility. Then he would only have to drive a few blocks instead of miles through the dark countryside. Damn, it seemed like a good idea at the time, get out of town, see the boys, watch the game, mostly get away from that screaming bitch. He had promised himself he would only have a couple, but damn, a long game went into overtime. Only pussies drank water or iced tea. Football demanded beer.

Travis pushed the peddle, making the little car shudder as it accelerated. Rounding a curve, bald tires lost traction and skidded on the asphalt. The right-side tires crunched on the gravel. His overcorrection sent the car into the oncoming lane and almost onto the opposite shoulder.

The cell phone chirped merrily as Travis crossed back over the centerline. The Nokia's display lit up the trash in his floorboard. He leaned over to retrieve the phone and felt the tires slip off the road once more.

An impact rocked the little car. A spider’s web of cracks exploded as something bounced across the windshield and over the top of the car.

Travis slammed on the breaks. The Honda slid to a long, haphazard stop. Already bald tires left dark lines, wearing down even more.

He sat gripping the steering wheel. The haze of alcohol muddled his brain. Breathing rapidly, Travis reached for his cell phone. Eventually, he turned off the ignition and opened his door. A few scattered thoughts made their way across soggy, boozed-up neural connections. Leaning across the passenger seat, he opened the glove box. After rummaging through old receipts and unused napkins, he found what he wanted and flicked on the flashlight.

Stepping onto the asphalt, Travis’s world swam alarmingly. Grabbing the dented roof of his car, he stabilized himself enough to shine the flashlight on the front of his vehicle. Beyond the cracked windshield, a massive dent collapsed the hood and part of the grill. He moaned at the damage.

Slowly turning around, Travis wondered what he hit. He passed the beam of light along the side of the road. A few crushed aluminum cans glittered, but he could not find the presumed deer or large dog.

Letting go of his lifeline on the car’s hood, he swung the flashlight beam across the ground in front of him. The tire marks created a clear map of his sins. Off to the side, a pile of fabric captured the edge of its light.

Shifting to illuminate the rags, Travis noticed the long, tangle of hair spilled about the ground like blood. The clothes twitched and whimpered. A pale hand flexed involuntarily against the dark road.

Travis’s brain immediately rejected what his eyes saw. Unable to accept the result of bad decisions. It had to be a deer tangled in someone’s discarded clothes.

The mass stirred. Horrified, Travis watched the red hair lifted upwards and the small hand twisted, bracing against the asphalt. The mass raised up, only inches, but enough for his inebriated mind to accept reality.

"Fuck!" stammered Travis. “Goddammit! Fuck me! Shit!” he yelled as he ran his hands through his hair, the beam of light strobing wildly in random directions.

Spinning, he ran back to the car, his staggering footsteps punctuated by explicatives. Throwing himself in the driver’s seat, Travis grabbed his cellphone. He immediately dialed 9-1-1 but paused before hitting send. Images of jail cells and depraved, tattooed men flashed in his mind. His handful of times in county taught him enough to know he did not want to experience prison.

Panic and fear dictated Travis’s actions, and he threw the phone in the passenger seat. Turning the key multiple times, he coaxed the Honda to life. Slamming the complaining engine into the drive, he sped away from his transgressions. Distance and denial his only concerns.

XxxX.

The traveler struggled to her elbows. Hanging her head, the sharp metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Pain swirled around her as she tried to make sense of what happened. Each breath stabbed her in the sides, and every movement threatened unconsciousness. The roar of blood pulsing in her ears did not hide the squeal of tires.

She needed to move, to find help. Making it to her knees, she struggled out of the backpack. It landed heavily behind her. The movements brought misery and black fog formed around the edges of her vision. She did not attempt to remove her sword. Swaying on her knees, under the indifferent stars, drawing short, ragged breaths, the traveler gathered her will about her. She staggered to her feet.

Looking down the long road, she wiped blood from her eyes. A hesitant step, then another. She needed to find help. The fog spread and thickened across her vision.

Less than a dozen halting steps brought the traveler to the center of the blacktop. Her will gave out and the fog engulfed her. The lone figure collapsed. Overhead, countless stars kept their silent vigil.


	2. Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB fic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira, she is mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 2: Rescue

XxxX

Hesitant joy flickered warmly in Optimus Prime’s spark. For the first time in nearly a million years, he embraced tenuous threads of hope. Megatron’s defeat forced the Decepticons into hiding. His new human allies, though small, possessed fearsome resourcefulness and determination. He saw a possible end to the perpetual warfare his race had endured. To add fuel to his smolder of hope, the first Autobots responded to his call and arrived safely. 

After a check for possible injuries due to the planet-fall impact, the Autobots located and secured the much-needed crates of supplies. A welcome surprise from two warriors full of surprises, but he lacked the means to haul the cargo back to base, something they could arrange later.

Now, he led his soldiers to their new home, mapping a route around and past Tranquility—no need to arouse suspicion. Few could not notice their caravan. Two sleek Lamborghinis and a formidable black truck turned human heads. Prime wondered if Cybertronian aesthetics hindered their ability to hide in plain sight, intentionally ignoring his own red and blue flames as he pondered limiting Earth altmode choices.

Dust and dry scrub spread around them, as far as the optics could see. While not as appealing as other biomes, the desert offered a refuge from humans, the arid land mostly empty and unused. He enjoyed the stark beauty of this place, the brilliant hues of reds, yellows, blues, and purples. He enjoyed watching the random swirls of dust that danced along the hardpan. Most of all, he respected the fauna that lived here, hardened and resourceful survivors, thriving in a nearly dead land. He thought most of Cybertron could learn from these thin, scraggly beasts.

The red Lamborghini peeked around him, slowly creeping out of formation. Sideswipe’s engine roared as he jumped forward. Optimus swerved; the move forced the smaller Autobot to break hard and fall back. Only a few hours planetside and the twins threatened to slip away and explore—another reason to avoid human settlements. The activity, energy, and excitement would draw the twins away, never to be seen again.

:: Sideswipe, back in formation,:: Optimus barked over the comm line, but couldn't quite keep the chuckle out of his vocals. While troublesome, the twins’ antics entertained him. Their disregard for authority, their irreverent attitudes, their freedom to be their volatile selves – he would never admit the splinter of jealousy as they indulge in things denied a Prime.

:: Sir, I can just shoot him in the aft,:: grumbled Ironhide, his vocals resonated with eons of bored annoyance.

:: Unnecessary. Just keep them between us,:: Prime responded.

:: When will we be there?:: the red twin whined over the communications lines, the vocal modulations grating on Optimus’s audios.

:: Primus, Sides. Mute it,:: quipped the yellow brother.

:: Nooooo. I want to meet the fleshies. We watched their shows and learned about them. I want to talk to them. You know, knock back some drinks, talk about football. Guy stuff::

:: You don’t know frag about football,:: baited Ironhide.

Optimus sighed. That human sound could express so much, especially exasperation. :: When we get to base, you both will go through an extensive de-briefing over government structure, Department of Transportation regulations, criminal laws, civil statutes, cultural mores, expectations of social interaction with humans, and the subtleties of the dominant regional language.::

The silence stretched over the commlinks as the melee warriors processed the information.

Finally, Sideswipe shattered the blessed quiet. :: And then, I can meet some fleshies?::

Paying more attention to the conversation than the road, Optimus didn’t register the figure in the road until nearly too late. He locked his breaks and struggled to control his forward momentum as inertia attempted to spin his considerable mass began to swerve out of control. The lighter back axils fish-tailed onto the soft shoulder. Tires dug in the loose dirt and pivoted him into a shallow drainage ditch. He came to an abrupt and shuddering stop.

The three mechs behind him transformed into their root modes and rushed to aid their leader. After a few seconds, Optimus Prime stood up. Reaching down to un-pop a dented plate on his leg, he waved his overprotective subordinates back. His attention focused further down the road.

There, a few hundred feet ahead, lay a figure in the median. Stepping onto the road, Prime approached the person. He moved cautiously, fully aware of their size difference and how fragile organic life could be. The early morning sun had barely touched the sky as Optimus knelt beside the motionless woman. His finger carefully moved the long hair away from her face while he scanned her. The results startled him, but he stoically hid his surprise from the others. 

His optics searched the area as he knelt over the prone figure; spotting a backpack, he pointed to it. Sunstreaker wordlessly picked it up. 

The Autobot leader opened his internal commlink. :: Ratchet, I need your advice.::

XxxX.

Pain crashed into her, ripping her from the comfort of nothingness. She wanted the run from the pain, but it stayed with her, forcing her upwards towards awareness.

A whimpering moan escaped her, a mumbled plea for the torture to end. She opened her eyes. Barely slits, and filmed over from tears and blood, but enough to allow brilliant light to drill to the back of her head. Towering beings loomed over her, their forms blurry shadows and monstrously huge. She let out another pathetic plea and moved to curl into a protective ball.

A hand reached for her. Fingers larger than her leg hovered over her before they descended. The hand pinned her to the table; the unforgiving surface restrained her. Fear washed over her in waves. Crests of blinding panic gave way to troughs of clarity. Within one of these calmer seconds, her brain registered the metal pressed against her and the electrical currents pulsating through it. A realization whatever controlled the hand could easily crush her. Another crest of terror, and she struggled against the immovable hand.

"Be still." A deep voice whispered, its timbre vibrating her bones. "You will only injure yourself further. Ratchet, please hurry."

"I am. I am. Just keep her still."

Another distorted shadow came into view, its mass blocking the rest of the painful light. The traveler's injured body could not fuel her consciousness anymore, and the black fog of oblivion began creeping across her vision. Her breath shuddered weakly as the void closed around her.

Only that deep voice lingered, her thread to the hear and now. “Save her!”


	3. Awake

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 3: Awake

XxxX

Hovering in nothingness, inky infinity stretched around her; the Traveler avoided pain, memories, and thoughts. Time had no meaning here, and neither did existence. But she did exist. Something tethered her, keeping her from floating into the realms beyond. 

Eventually, the blackness slowly grayed, and she buoyed towards consciousness. She began to sense her body once more as stiffness undulated with vertigo, creating a nauseating swirl. Dull aches throbbed, threatening to become sharp stabs of excruciating pain. She lay still, allowing mind and body to reunite, and attempted to force fuzzy half-thoughts into a coherent understanding. As she lay, her acute senses began reporting the environment around her. The smell of antiseptics, oils, and the sharp snap of metal nearly hid the meaty copper of blood in the back of her throat. Soft mechanical hums and whirls surrounded her; the movement of massive machines echoed through a cavernous space. This did not fit with her impressions of a hospital. She expected the hurry of people, the enclosed spaces, the smell of disease, and death. Old fears crept forward. Lifelong phobias sank their needle fangs into her mind. Her heart fluttered in fear, and she hooked her fingers, readying her natural weapons. Barely prying her eyelids apart, the Traveler attempted to see her surroundings unnoticed. Searing light filled her vision, and she jerked against the pain. A cold rag brushed across her forehead and landed awkwardly, followed by a grunt of dissatisfaction. Startled by the damp cloth, the Traveler inhaled sharply and regretted it as broken ribs sent knives through her chest. She moaned, her face involuntarily contorting against the torture. 

"Are you in pain?" asked a rumbling voice.

Reaching up, she touched the cloth and positioned it over her eyes. Cold and slightly damp, it soothed and numbed unseen wounds. She croaked a "Yes," past a raw throat and over a swollen, dry tongue.

"My Chief Medical Officer is giving you some medication that should lessen the pain."

An unmistakable burning sensation irritated the back of her left hand. An I.V., she decided as the fog of injury faded away some. She had an I.V. once, long ago, and had ripped it out in a fit of panic, something she preferred not to repeat. She curled the fingers of that hand in her blankets, a reminder not to use it.

Measuring her breathing, she managed to ask, "Where am I?" without the knives in her chest slicing her.

This time a different voice answered. "We believe you were struck by a car and abandoned without medical attention. Optimus almost ran over you. He brought you here for treatment. Your injuries are significant. 

"You are suffering from a skull fracture and multiple concussions. Your left shoulder was dislocated, six ribs, and a clavicle broken, along with hairline fractures in your left arm and left ankle. A punctured lung, lacerations on several organs, internal bleeding. Too many contusions and epidermal lacerations to count. It took every bit of my skill to keep you alive, but you should make a full recovery. And just for the record, I despise working on such small patients; my hands, though skilled, are almost too big for the delicate work organics require."

"Ratchet, that is enough," the more resonant voice gently admonished.

As she processed the list of physical traumas, the haze of narcotics slipped through her blood, numbing and promising a dreamless slumber. Yet, she had to know. The Traveler rallied the last of her consciousness. Awkwardly pulling the cloth from her face, she opened her eyes against the sting of overhead lights. 

Monsters towered above her. Shining and sparkling, their bodies made of metal, their eyes glowing. Massive and powerful, with sharp edges and bright paint, they stared at her.

Somewhere deep in her mind, she screamed, but the painkillers dulled her thoughts, keeping panic chained and docile. "Giant, fucking robots," she slurred before the drug-induced darkness took control.

XxxX

"How much did you give her," asked Optimus, staring at the tiny being, small and fragile, nearly lost on the medical berth meant for a Cybertronian.

"Enough to overcome her metabolism," Ratchet answered, turning away to tend to other duties. Over his shoulder, the medic continued, "I want to keep her unconscious, give her body a chance to heal before she bolts out of here in a blind panic."

Prime crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. He did not want her to run away, terrified, but he understood the possibility of that event occurring. He wanted to talk to her; for her to answer the questions her existence raised.

XxxX

Throbbing aches warned her to remain still as they promised excruciating pain if she forced her body to move. Instead, she chose to open her eyes to observe her surroundings cautiously. This took a bit of effort; a crust gummed her eyelids together and blurred her vision. It took several blinks to clear away the gunk. Remaining as still as possible, she slowly moved her head. Ignoring the metal giants for the moment, she viewed her surroundings.

First, the Traveler noticed the darkness. The blazing overhead lights barely glowed; she blinked slowly, appreciating the shadows, mercy for her eyes and concussed brain.

Turning her head slightly, she could gaze past the drab gray blanket covering her. She lay on a foam mat, the blue latex edges poking out beneath a sheet. Beyond that spread an expanse of metal or a composite material, slick, shiny, and immaculately clean. Her drug-fueled thoughts wondered if it was a rule that patients were not allowed to see their own gore. 

Beyond her weirdly colossal bed, a cavernous room stretched around her. Her acute vision picked out details in the semidarkness. Brown stone had been chipped away to create the room, still exposed in places, shared wall-space with shiny, unidentified material. Shifting as far as her body would allow, the Traveler could make out shelves and cabinets, a long counter, and another slab like the one she lay on. 

The proportions of the space meant for the giants, not someone like her. She tried to gather some significance from the room's size, but her musings quickly lost cohesion like cotton candy at the hands of a toddler. 

Movement alerted her; a metal colossus watched her as she assessed her surroundings. The bright blue of his mechanical eyes glowed steadily. She looked away first, not wanting to challenge the giant inadvertently. Also, that piercing gaze unnerved her. She felt as if he was trying to peer into her soul, read her thoughts, and know her secrets. She tried to curl into a defensive ball, but broken bones refused to move appropriately, allowing her to become small and insignificant.

A soft clicking echoed from outside of her visual field. Their tone and cadence oddly reminded her of a hen clucking to her chicks. 

"Remain still. I don't want to deal with accidental injuries." A different giant stepped into the line of sight. Violently green and smaller than the one with the blue eyes, this one reached towards her with oversized hands and delicately arranged her blankets over her. His gaze shifted towards the more massive robot, the words barbed, "Primus knows there are enough accidental injuries to deal with."

The Traveler watched the larger one shift uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at the floor.

A lifetime of observing humans, learning to predict their action by the subtleties of stance or a twitch of a muscle told her these two had a parent and child relationship, or something similar. The green one, though gruff and rude, cared about others. The big one, covered in flames with a noble stance, did not like being called out, though he accepted it. 

"What are you?" the Traveler asked, then immediately cringed at her own rudeness.

The larger one uncrossed his arms and strolled forward. Softly sitting a hand on the near acre of metal surrounding her, he bent forward, closing the distance between them. Immediately, the charge of energy played over her. Strong and steady, the currents wrapped themselves around the vast being in a shroud. Inhaling, ozone coated the back of her throat, and she fought the need to touch the metal.

"We are robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron," he began, his deep voice both soothing and melodic. "You can refer to us as Autobots. I am Optimus Prime," he glanced towards the green Autobot, "This is my Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet." Optimus Prime straightened, pulling away from her, leaving her alone after the wash of energy.

Sleepy neurons fired, and the Traveler surmised a few key points. One, the flashy Optimus was in charge or a superior rank, and two, they belonged to a military or paramilitary unit. She did not know what to do with this information, so she stored it away. 

A thought flopped out of her dry mouth. "Are we still on Earth?"

The medic snorted with derision, "We do not abduct people. That is just - weird. Why would any halfway sentient species want to abduct humans? It isn't like they are useful for much. Too small and weak for manual labor. Too short-lived for space travel. The nutritional requirements alone are ridiculous…"

"Ratchet," interrupted Optimus Prime and gave his companion a pointed look with raised brows. The giant straightened and stepped back, giving her room.

A smile crept across the Traveler's lips. Then, she voiced a more concerning thought, "Why am I so... calm?" she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open

Again, the green robot answered her question, "I gave you a combination of medications. We did not want you panicking and hurting yourself further. In another term, 'good drugs.'"

The grin spread into an intoxicated smile and sat crookedly on her bruised face. "Hmm. Nice," the woman allowed the vowel sound to stretch out, expressing her appreciation of the potent cocktail. Now that she found her voice, natural curiosity took over, and a hundred questions scrambled for answers. "Why is it so dark in here?"

Optimus Prime cut off Ratchet to answer her. "We do not require much light to see. Also, the scans showed your vision is more light-sensitive than a human's."

Her heart skipped a beat as the smile slid off her face. Panic erupted through the drugged serenity. _Oh, God. They figured it out_. Fighting the pain, the Traveler rolled onto her side and attempted to push herself into a sitting position—her only thought to get away, to flee and hide among those she could mimic. 

Quick, thunderous footsteps rang, the giants charged towards her. Optimus Prime bounded to her side, he held his hands to block her, but he did not touch her. "Please do not panic. No harm will come to you," the large being implored. 

The Traveler paused digging at the tape, securing the I.V. needle to her hand. She looked up, silently pleading. "What are you going to do with me?" Fears of confinement raced circles in her mind.

"Please, we are on your world as guests; there are certain – rules we must follow to stay. A representative of the United States Government is on his way to meet you. Your existence has caused some concern, and they want to talk to you." The gravity of the situation weighed heavily in his voice.

She curled into a ball and covered her face as despair spread into her soul. All her life, she hid from those that would turn her into an experiment, to prod and study. Men and women would lock her in a cage or cut her apart to see how she worked. She spent her life learning the enemy, hiding among them, but apart in solitude. She moaned, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath hitching, small tremors twitched in her limbs. Even if she were uninjured, she could not escape and doubted she could evade these massive beings. Death became preferable than existing as a tortured experiment. Seeking out the larger of the two, she stared deep into his eyes, "Don't let them have me," she whispered, as she planned permanent escape.

Optimus reached for her and shielded her body with his massive hand. Bending down, his face neared hers, almost close enough to touch. "One of our number has suffered at the hands of the humans, he does not speak of it, but we almost lost him to their experiments." Optimus Prime spit the last word as if it tasted foul. "The humans may have shown the capacity for great goodness, but they have also shown the capacity for great evil as well. I will protect you," he promised.

The giant quickly stood and strode out the door. Calling over his shoulder, he told his medic, "Make sure the female is clothed and refueled."

"Optimus, you can't be serious," Ratchet called out.


	4. Compromises

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 4: Compromises

XxxX

"What the Hell, Prime? You say you aren't part of an invasion force, yet here you are with an alien species that might just like this planet."

The voice pulled the Traveler out of the pharmacopeia cocktail Ratchet gave her. Her earlier, panicked attempt to leave awoke brutal stabs of pain from complaining injuries. Wiping herself down with a washcloth dipped in a bowl of warm water, followed by attempting to wiggle into a t-shirt, and sweatpants, did nothing to ease the aches. On the upside, she no longer smelled like the roadkill she narrowly avoided becoming, and Ratchet removed the I.V. untethering her.

An annoyed growl rumbled from her, a protest to disrupted slumber. She opened heavy eyelids to see Optimus Prime walking into the medical bay, as Ratchet had called it. Behind him, a shorter, midnight black Autobot followed, who's movements and weapons, screamed "muscle."

Looking towards his feet, Optimus Prime addressed someone unseen, blocked by the height of the slab she lay on. "We are not part of an invasion force, and I doubt she is either. I have seen planetary invasion forces; she is not it."

Arrogant and disembodied, the male voice drifted up to her. "A scout, someone to analyze our resources and defenses. I am not stupid, Prime. Aliens are trouble, none of you belong here, and all you cause are problems."

The Traveler glanced towards Ratchet; her brows furrowed in a silent question. The green medic dismissed the discussion with a wave and continued sorting a tangle of wires.

"Ya might not be dumb, but you're paranoid as frag," the black robot grumbled as he stepped around Optimus Prime and entered the room. The glow of his blue eyes locked on her in intense scrutiny. 

Both Ratchet and Optimus Prime glowered at the black Cybertronian, who only shrugged in response.

Slowly, methodically the Traveler sat up. She rearranged a stack of pillows to comfortably support her and take any strain off her battered body. Pulling her covers, she folded them over her legs and pushed an errant chunk of hair out of her face. "You know I can hear you," she called to the unseen man.

Optimus Prime bent over. As the Autobot stood, a man crouched in the giant's hand, holding onto the giant's thumb for balance. Smoothly, the hand swung over the berth she thought of as her bed. The man deftly hopped out of the palm, the stiff soles of his shoes clicking on the metal surface. 

The Traveler carefully studied the newcomer. Off the rack suit draped over a lanky frame; cheap tie; spicy cologne; close-cropped, curly hair; long aquiline nose; a golden, Mediterranean skin tone all shouted of an immigrant family's proud, G-man son. Struggling to resist a snarl, the Traveler shifted, watching the man's approach. 

He stopped a few feet from her and squatted, his knees cracking in protest. "I am Agent Reginald Seymore Simmons, U. S. Department of Extraterrestrial Affairs, and Liaison to the Autobot forces. As an official representative of the United States of America, I would like to welcome you to Earth." He did not offer a handshake, and she would not have taken it if he had.

The Traveler scoffed, "Earth?" Not sure she understood, or if the drugs muddled the meaning of the man's statement

"Yeah, sweetheart, it's what we call this rock you landed on," snapped Agent Simmons.

Realization tightened her lips into an "O." Then, she softly smiled. Holding up a hand, she pointed at no one in particular. "Ok. Seriously. You have made a mistake." She glanced towards Optimus Prime, who moved nearer the bed. His presence encouraged her, a protector from the government bureaucrat. "I'm not an alien. I was born right here on terra firma. My father raised me by himself. I graduated as a homeschooler, but I scored a twenty-eight on my ACT. Never tried college. I'm a registered voter. I know the Star-Spangled Banner by heart." Desperation began to creep into her words.

"Do you like apple pie?" Agent Simmons asked.

"Nope, but I do love a good cheeseburger," she replied dryly.

Simmons leaned in closer, invading her personal space, making her more uncomfortable. "Where did you come from? We have confirmed your DNA is not human. What. Are. You?"

Tightening around herself, the Traveler glared at the smarmy man. Fear, fatigue, and the ghostly caresses of pain congealed into anger. The thin vale of humanity she wore slipped, and a snarl exposed the fangs she hid behind tightlipped smiles.

Agent Simmons chuckled, "That might be impressive if you were able to stand up. Right now, you're a harmless puppy or kitty or whatever. You better start talking, 'cause I lose interest real quick."

Seconds slipped past as they stared at each other. Finally, the Traveler looked away first. Focusing on a red wound left by the I.V. needle, she rubbed the back of her hand and choked down her rage. Her words started as a whisper but gathered strength as she spoke, "A human man, my father raised me. We lived quiet lives, unharried, and unmolested by anyone. In turn, we left the rest of the world to spin as it chose. I know little of my people; they are most likely extinct, or so reduced in number extinction is a generation away." She glanced back towards the man, then the massive robots. They all watched her, silent and unmoving. 

Focusing once more on Agent Simmons, she continued. "Human arrogance states that they are the only sentient species, the only ones to evolve and create civilization. Father said my people had a written language before humanity's simian ancestors climbed out of the trees. Don't worry; Homo sapiens has proven its superiority over all the creatures of the land and sea. Your kind breeds rapidly and annihilates anything that might challenge you for planetary supremacy. Your species is more likely to become extinct from its stupidity than anything a few - remnants could do."

Grunting, the bureaucrat motioned towards Optimus Prime. The Autobot uncurled his hand and sat her backpack and sword upon the expansive metal. 

Immediately her gaze fell upon her sword, the one possession she could not lose. Simmons snatched it up and stood, negating any attempts to recover the weapon. He stepped away from her. Pulling the blade from the hilt, he whistled in appreciation, "Nice. I have come to notice that aliens like swords. Don't you, Prime? All that technology and everyone carries a sword." He twisted his wrist, and the blue-black blade glittered the light. 

The dark mech spoke, his voice gravel and boredom, "Blades don't require energy or the resources for projectiles. They don't jam or misfire. They rarely ricochet out of control."

The Traveler turned her focus to the black robot. He leaned against the wall, behind and to the side of Optimus Prime, a place of observation and protection. Ancient and worn, his shadowy metal gouged and marked, a scar sliced through his brow and down his cheek, distorting the light from his eye. Initially, she discounted him as just muscle, her prejudices fueling the mistake.

"This is Ironhide, my Weapons Specialist," Optimus Prime introduced.

Ironhide grunted. 

Turning back to Agent Simmons, the Traveler asked, "Can I have my sword back?"

Still watching the light play across the honed edges, the man shook his head. "Naw, I think the guys at Lockheed might want to look at this."

"No," Optimus Prime reached out, his hand opens, motioning for the sword. Simmons gave up the weapon, his expression forlorn. 

Walking towards her, he scooped up the backpack. Unzipping the dingy canvas created a cloud of dust around him, and he sneezed.

The Traveler intentionally did not say "bless you".

Waving his hand for fresh air, he looked in her bag. Rummaging around, he pulled each item and dropped them at his feet. " Map. Bottled water. Travel brochures. Three granola bars. Duct tape. Fire piston. Jeans. Sweater. Underwear. Socks. A book. Cash. Some change." He delved further into her backpack. "What is this?" He held up a plastic baggie with several fake I.D.s visible. A raised eyebrow silently questioned her need for alternate personas.

She looked away and glanced at Optimus Prime, a frown turned his mouth downward, and frustration rolled off him in waves. "Is this necessary?"

Simmons pointed at the giant big enough to swat him, "Hey. You want her cleared; I'm clearing her. If I find anything I don't like, it's over." He tossed the bag aside, it thumped loudly as it landed. Opening the plastic baggy, the agent leafed through the stack of false identities. "So which one is real? Are you Sarah Niles?" He tossed the card aside. "Patricia Ansley?" and dropped the rectangle of plastic. Staring intently at her, he read, "Elizabeth McCollin?"

She sighed, dropping her gaze to her lap. "None of them really. I legally went by Patricia Ansley for the last fifteen years, but she is dead now. I should have destroyed that one."

"Like dead dead? You killed her?" the man asked, concern flicking across his words.

She rubbed her temple; a screamer of a headache threatened to explode. She stared at Simmons. "Oh, good gods. No. She is me. They all are. I can't use that one anymore. So, she is dead – figuratively dead." She noticed her bag missing; Optimus Prime kept his fist tightly curled; she wondered if he noticed the heavy thud it made.

"And what about the 9mm? Can you explain why you had a stolen firearm?" Agent Simmons relentlessly continued still thumbing through the small stack of nonexistent lives.

She shrugged a gesture that meant everything and nothing. "Some tweaker tried to mug me in Denver. I won and took his gun. The clip, bullets, and firing pin are at the bottom of a creek." Exhaustion began to creep into her words. She needed to rest; this roller coaster of a man wore on her.

"Is he still alive?"

"He was when I left the alley." She pulled the blanket around her shoulders, ignoring the mess of her simple belongings. "So, am I a threat to national security, corrupting the sanctity of American life? A danger to little kids and puppies everywhere? Or am I just a weary traveler trying to live out her days in peace?"

"What is your real name? Or do you even have one?" He tossed the plastic cards aside, and they fluttered down as Autumn leaves.

The comment stung. She had a name, a name she kept from the world, the only link to others like her. "Sira. Sira dha Rul," she enunciated as her father had taught her.

"How do you spell that?" quipped the agent, oblivious she had shared a deep secret.

She blinked, stunned at the nonchalance. She sank deeper into her makeshift bed, wounded pride hiding underneath the blankets. "I've never seen it written in English. Spell it however you want."

Agent Simmons turned and faced Optimus Prime. "You know how this is going to go. If she stays here, they will want an exchange, and proof you will keep her leashed, watered, fed, daily walks, the usual."

Sira growled; she was not a stray dog.

The agent glanced over his shoulder, a cocksure grin lighting up his face. "Bad girl. No biting."

Glaring daggers, she wondered if her injuries would allow her to tackle him. Instead, she listened to her body. The aches and stabs grew louder as the painkillers wore off. She looked away, growling softly.

"O.P., you need to decide what to offer as payment for your new pet. I'll make sure this gets buried along with everything else. Now let me down. I have phone calls to make and a dinner reservation."

Optimus Prime used his unopen hand for elevator service, carefully setting the human on the floor. "Now, everyone play nice." Agent Simmons called unseen, but the clicks of stiff soles headed towards the door.

"Thank you," Optimus Prime called after the retreating figure.

Sira mumbled obscenities in her native language ending with "Fucking asshole," in clear English.

Ironhide chuckled from his place on the wall; Ratchet turned away. The tension in the room immediately dissipated, shoulders relaxed, metal plates covering them loosened, and the charge in the air lessened. 

The great red and blue Autobot knelt, bringing them face to face. "The government has categorized us as refugees but has allowed us to govern ourselves. When we realized you were not human, I called the Secretary of Defense. We agreed you could stay here while you recovered from your injuries, and I assume full responsibility for your actions. In trade for you, the government wants some of our technology."

"Weapons." A cold statement. She knew humans and human desires.

Nodding in agreement, Optimus Prime sighed, "We will not give them our weapon designs, but we can offer other technology, safer technology." A small smile tipped the corners of his mouth as the glow in his eyes softened. Reaching towards her, he opened his closed fist and deposited her sword and backpack near the pile of her belongings. 

"I won't let you down," she promised the being that saved her life.

"I didn't think you would," came his solemn reply.


	5. Reflections

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 5: Reflections

**XxxX**

Sira gazed at the image reflected in the tiny mirror. A gaunt, haunted vestige stared back at her. Her skin stretched thin over her cheeks, shallow and emaciated. Shocking green irises appeared to glow, accentuated by bloodshot sclarea and dark sunken circles beneath. wild hair, the color of copper stuck to her face and around her neck. A premonition of death, a banshee following an unfortunate soul, wailing of future disaster.

She shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, fighting back hot tears. The past few months nearly destroyed her, leaving her exhausted and emotionally frayed. The home she and her father had worked so hard for, now reduced to ashes. Everything she had, gone, wiped from the Earth in a blaze of fire and fear. Her whole life reduced to the contents of her backpack. She kept trying to remind herself, that she lost stuff - only stuff – replaceable stuff. Yet, her chest squeezed around her heart when she thought about it. The loss signified more than material possessions. She lost connections to the only family she knew. She relied on that single connection, afraid of losing the only anchor to keep her tethered and restrained.

She tossed the mirror aside, not wanting to endure her ghastly appearance anymore. She knew she looked bad. Bruises, deep, dark, and angry blotched large portions of her body. Their edges already taking on a green tint as her body rapidly broke down the hemoglobin.

Reclining on her makeshift hospital bed, Sira silently watched the Autobot medic go about his day. _Ratchet – his name was Ratchet_ , she reminded herself. He picked up an oversized tablet and poked at it, his eyes scanning across whatever it showed him. 

Sira picked at the blanket covering her legs and sighed. Boredom chewed at her, and she looked around the cavernous room for any diversion. No windows to look out of, no TV to mindlessly melt into, no books, not even background noises to identify, sterile and monotonous.

She looked down and flexed her left hand, turning the wrist. Intense pain exploded through her arm making her yelp. Through tears of pain, she smiled at her success, two days ago she could not lift it. 

“Stop that,” admonished Ratchet as he turned towards her. 

“I’m bored,” the woman pouted, intentionally avoiding looking at the massive robot.

The medic snorted. “Bored enough to cause yourself pain? You were not bored before you begged me to reduce the pain medication.”

Without turning her head, Sira cut her eyes towards the Autobot and glared. “I was mostly unconscious. Can I at least have a book to read? – Please?” She asked, shifting her position to face him. The movement felt good, bending stiff joints, and flexing sore muscles.

Setting the tablet aside, Ratchet turned his full attention to her. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall. “I can have one of the others ask around, but we were not prepared for this event – for you.” He waved a hand towards her before tucking it back in the crooked elbow of the other. “We had to ask the human soldiers to donate clothing. This is why you are without female appropriate clothing such as a brassiere to help support your mammary glands, but you do not appear to require one, so I deemed it a nonissue.”

Heat burned Sira’s cheeks. “Did you just called me flat-chested,” she squealed in shock. “Why would you look at my boobs?”

“I didn’t look. I had to evaluate your injuries. Once I realized you weren’t human, I ran a full scan on you,” he informed her dismissively. “Anyways, I do not understand why females would judge themselves on such an arbitrary feature. You have less body fat than the average human. I am certain it is a species difference…”

“Holy fuck. Stop. Just stop talking.” The woman tried to hide her face behind her hand. The heat of embarrassment creeping over her cheeks. “You’re a dick,” she snarled.

Ratchet pushed himself off the wall and retrieved his tablet. 

XxxX

Shoveling the ground meat and potatoes into her mouth, Sira barely tasted it before she swallowed. Her body craved more protein to rebuild itself, but the meals she received came from the US Army. Balanced and nutritious enough for a soldier, but not for a carnivore. She could eat grains, fruit, and vegetables, but her meat requirements would give a human kidney failure. Another fork full and the tartness of tomato sauce coated her tongue. She chewed and swallowed before attacking the green beans. Three fat chocolate chip cookies awaited her ravenous attention. 

Normally she did not receive second portions. When Ratchet sat her meal in front of her, a second piece of meatloaf balanced on the potatoes, she squealed with abandon. Tonight, her stomach would be full.

“You have lost weight,” the medic bluntly informed her.

“gramhmnumn-mumnum,” she responded in agreement, her mouth full of food. A few more gluttonous bites and she licked the fork clean. 

Ironhide strolled into the medbay. He gently sat a small pile of books beside her as he walked past her bed. The dark Autobot gave her a wink and headed towards Ratchet.

Smiling back, she randomly picked up a paperback. Tattered and worn, the creased cover depicted a rugged cowboy astride an equally rugged horse. Lifting the book to her nose, Sira sniffed. Paper, mold, and male filled her nostrils. Lifting her head, she closed her eyes and sniffed. This place smelled of metal and men. Even over the seasoned meat, the sharp, warm scent of male sweat mingled with the warm metallic, oily, ozone of Cybertronian tickled her nose. 

Sira spent the rest of her evening curled up in bed, lazily watching the virulently green mech and reading. Louis L’Amour novels were never her first choice, but she found the old west tropes ridiculous to the point of humorous. Chuckling, she wondered if the pious heroin, Bonnie, would scandalously flash some ankle at the hero. 

Tucking a plastic knife between the pages, Sira bookmarked the western novel and set it aside. Slowly and cautiously, she stretched. Her injuries hurt, but not as much as yesterday. A few more days and most of her wounds should heal enough to leave the bed and begin moving around. The thought of a real bath or shower pulled a toothy smile across her lips.

Rearranging the bedding, Sira sank lower beneath the covers. She turned away from Ratchet, staring at the far wall, but not seeing it. Her thoughts bounced and frolicked unfettered. Aliens from outer space? The whole concept of other sentient life – species – she accepted. But the little grey men descriptions she scoffed at, like she scoffed at the whole Bigfoot phenomenon.

When she would look to the stars, she saw friends and guides in the tiny points of light. Yes, she understood the general science behind stars. Massive balls of nuclear fusion held together by their own gravity, but to her, they felt so much more. At night she could tell time, seasons, and directions by the placement of the stars overhead. Their light lit paths in the forest only she and the night creatures could see. The pinpoints clustered together to form a galaxy, the glow of it stretched from horizon to horizon on clear nights. 

All of those stars, and to think only their sun – their star – the only one holding life? Arrogance, sheer arrogance. As a child, Sira wondered what it would be like to live on a different planet, one where she did not have to lie and deceive to live. All her life she had been taught to hide, blend in, and not to draw attention to herself. The thought of dropping the human façade she wore and existing as her true self both excited and saddened her. 

Growing up, her father kept her away from other children, hell most people, until she had an ironclad control of herself. He feared what could happen if others discovered her and her differences. He taught her to fear. Fear other people. Remain aloof and watchful; learn the humans’ ways and emulate them. Know the enemy, but humans were not her enemies, nor were they her allies. She found humans to typically be ambivalent and self-centered, too focused on themselves to notice much else. 

Fear of friendships, and attachments. Her father pounded it into her, a couple of times literally, she could not have friends. Friends wanted to share, they wanted details. Friends could not be trusted with secrets, especially ones like hers. A friend could turn on her. She had to remain alone friendless, companionless. 

But the thing her father taught her to fear the most – the government. That anonymous monolith of power capable of extraordinary evil. The fear of discovery and capture so ingrained in her heart and mind, it invaded her every action. Would paying a bill late invite scrutiny? Would stumping her toe and mumbling a curse in her native tongue lead to her arrest? She denied herself friendships and relationships, scared of possible exposure.

Now, the government knew of her existence, and did not appear to care. This bothered her. The man Simmons seemed apathetic about her. His casual dismissal of her existence went against everything she had been taught. All her beliefs wiped away in a ten-minute meeting. 

The chartreuse Autobot strolled past, focused intently on his giant tablet. Obviously, the military would not give a rat's ass about her. Why bother with an obscure cryptid when giant robots from outer space existed?

An ache in her side reminded her that she relied on the generosity of these metallic aliens until she healed. Life had taught her altruism did not exist; generosity came with a price; people expected something in return. She wondered what the giant robots would want in return for saving her life, as it already cost them. Would she become an experiment? Would they threaten her, or subtly attempt to manipulate her? Would she be forced to stay? 

Around and around Sira's thoughts swirled until exhaustion took over and she drifted off to sleep.

XxxX.

Dreams faded into consciousness and Sira blinked. A comfortable darkness greeted her. The only light in the cavernous room pulsed and blinked from some otherworldly objects sitting on a shelf. Watching the soothing colors strobe in indecipherable patterns, she wondered if they served a purpose beyond pretty nightlights. Time became an elusive concept, her instincts said, “before dawn”, but her sleep fogged brain could be wrong. Sitting up, the woman stretched her back. Muscles slid over freshly knitted ribs and she relished the absence of pain. She shifted her weight to bend her injured leg. Pain shot through the appendage from toes to hip, and she sucked air between her teeth. Apparently, it would take a bit longer for that damage to heal. Cocking her head to the side and listening intently, only air whistling through the vents broke the silence. Sira sniffed, over the ever-present tang of warm metal, she detected hints of dirt, nothing alive. 

An excruciatingly loud, echoing rumble startled her. Snapping her head towards the noise, Sira pulled her lips back in a threatening snarl. In the darkness, the Cybertronian medic lay prone on the other massive table. One arm thrown over his chest while the other dangled off the table. Another rattling, ear-splitting, snore tumbled out of Ratchet.

Sira twitched slightly and licked her lips. “Good gods,” she whispered to herself. 

Waiting for her heart to slow, she settled back in her blankets. Unable to sleep, the woman watched the medic. He did not move, no glow from what served as his eyes. _So, the Cybertronians require sleep or something similar_ , she thought to herself. 

The massive aliens fascinated her. A non-human sentient species, she could communicate with and understand. Robots perhaps, but most definitely alive in their own right. Beings – persons – people – metal people. Metal people from another planet gave off energy, power. Not the cold electricity that ran a vacuum or toaster, but the warm crackling vitality of life. The same power she felt in the middle of a forest. The same power that churned deep within the Earth. The energy of the cosmos. The power of creation, and only living things held that energy.

In the still darkness, the energy and the metal of the Autobot whispered to her. During the day, she easily ignored the tingle at the back of her mind, but now – now that tingle became an itch. She never understood this desire, this addiction of malleable metal and creation’s power. Here, rested tons of both. 

Insatiably curious, she drummed her finger on her blanket. Just a peak, she told herself. She would not touch, only look. She did not want to alert the Autobot or accidentally harm him. 

Making her decision, Sira made herself comfortable. Laying on her side, she faced the sleeping Autobot. She relaxed her body and cleared her mind. It took a couple of minutes, but on the threshold of sleep her own energy slipped from her. Directing her focus, the Autobot began to glow in her mind’s eye. Pulsating lines traced along his armor, branching smaller and smaller, feeding the metal of his body. Intricate and beautiful, the veins of pale blue light were not the source of Ratchet’s life force. 

She allowed her energy to brush against his, and the alien’s glow exploded around him. A field of energy surrounding him, and his metal faded into obscurity. In the center, a small star, robin's egg blue, flickered like a flame and arced like electricity. It radiated a nurturing compassionate warmth. This was Ratchet’s soul, but not a soul. A forge. A nuclear furnace. But not a soul as she understood it. So, alien and so, beautiful. 

The temptation to linger, to explore this energy called to her and fortunately common sense won out. She pulled away from the Autobot before snapping her power back. She went too far, she should not have searched any further than the surface, but gods these beings held power. This went beyond biological life. However these Cybertronians came into existence, they were given incredible energy - ancient, ever-burning energy.

Turning over, Sira put her back to the medic. A deep yawn carved her face into an “O”. She expended too much of herself, her body still needed to finish healing. Short-sighted temptation probably set her body back a couple of days. Allowing sleep to wash over her, she wondered how long before her next meal. 

XxxX

Ratchet felt the soft intrusion, so gentle he almost missed it. He struggled to cancel his maintenance protocols and online. By the time he fully reclaimed his frame, the brush of power vanished. He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, afraid to move. The ghost of that touch still lingering, visceral and hot. Something he never wanted to experience again.

Turning only his head, he searched for the woman Optimus brought in. She lay curled on her mat, buried beneath blankets. As the only other lifeform in the room with him, the sensation had to come from her. 

He spent the rest of the night watching her sleep.


	6. Invitations

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 6: Invitations

XxxX

Sira watched Optimus Prime approach. Blue and red flames curved along his chest as chrome danced and sparkled in the artificial light. Power radiated from him. The power and dominance of one accustomed to getting his way. But also the natural energy Cybertronians radiated, it pulsed off him, like waves against the shore, rhythmic and timeless. She remembered his presence, but only fleeting glimpses and half-formed emotions. He helped her; he held her close and saved her life. 

Running her hand through her hair, she pulled damp locks in front of her face. A habit since childhood, hiding behind her hair when uncomfortable. The hair still wet from her first real shower in a week, sat coldly against her cheek. An errant curl threatened to poke her in the eye

"I am sorry I have not had time to check on you," the Autobot began, standing at her bed. "Events required my attention, but I have read Ratchet's reports on your progress." A soft smile tipped the corners of his mouth. "Your condition has rapidly improved."

Ratchet spoke from behind her. "It seems your - stray has a few surprises. Would you like to explain, or shall I?"

It took Sira a couple of seconds to realize the medic addressed her. Put in the spotlight, the woman wanted to slink out of sight. Instead, she squared her shoulders and tucked the hair dangling in her face behind an ear. Sitting a little straighter, she leveled her gaze at Optimus Prime. Inhaling, she hoped her voice did not warble in nervousness. "Under ideal conditions, I can rapidly recover from most injuries."

"And what are these ideal conditions?" prompted Ratchet.

Twisting her fingers in the hem of her shirt, she paused, not enjoying talking about herself. "Not dying helps."

Behind her, the medic snorted.

She ignored the medic but noticed the fleeting glare Optimus Prime shot behind her. She continued, emboldened by the Autobot's silent reprimand. "Receiving medical care also helps, so thank you for that. Mostly, I need rest and calories. What takes a human a week to heal, my body does it in a day. A simple broken bone a week." She looked away, suddenly self-conscious of her differences.

The whine of gears and alarming pop of metal joints echoed in the room as Ratchet stood. He spoke as he stiffly shuffled into view, "Optimus, her body is burning through a huge amount of energy to repair itself. Her metabolic rate is three times that of a human's. In a couple of more days, she will be completely healed. I am considering releasing her from medical." 

Optimus nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. He blinked and addressed the medic. "Is she stable enough to leave medical for a short walk?"

Sira threw her blankets off and scooted to the edge of her mat. "Yes. Yes, she can leave medical for a walk. She needs to leave medical for a walk. Emotional wellbeing and all that." She answered for Ratchet and started to gather her legs underneath her to stand.

The medic reached towards her and placed a hand over her, gently keeping her from standing.

"What the fuck!" Sira snapped, nearly hitting her head against his metal palm.

"Optimus, I must advise caution. She tends to overexert herself when she should be convalescing."

"I promise to be good. I won't exert myself," she yelled out, her voice echoing against the hand.

"Ratchet, let her go. I will watch over her. It is a simple tour of the base."

The hand lifted away, and Sira blinked at the med bay lights. 

Reaching towards her, Optimus Prime offered her his hand.

**XxxX.**

The corridors offered the same bland and dull color scheme as the medbay, a monotonous mix of white and pale gray. 

Sira attempted to find a comfortable position in the massive hand, but the hard metal and sharp edges made that problematic. Instead, she tried to remain still and not fidget. The Autobot leader offered her a clear view, with his hand in front of his chest. She focused on the path Optimus Prime took through the facility, trying to form a map in her mind.

Without warning, the Autobot leader began speaking, "We are located outside of Tranquility Nevada, at an abandoned airfield. Your government allows us to govern ourselves with some oversite." A touch of disgust laced the last words.

Looking upward, Sira witnessed a fleeting frown pass over the silvery features, and the air around her chilled.

Optimus Prime looked down at her and blinked. Then he smiled a tight smile, and warmth began to radiate from his hand.

He took her to his workspace, a sterile room with a gargantuan desk, matching chair, and a computer. Optimus pointed out he spent much of his time here. Sira wondered if the statement held an invitation.

Next, they stopped by the Rec Room, a place for the Autobots to relax and unwind. Massive displays hung on several walls, shelves of media ate up the corners, and huge wedges randomly dotted the floor, creating a weird obstacle course. Fortunately, the black Autobot, Ironhide, reclined against one, or Sira would never have guessed the objects to be the equivalent of Cybertronian beanbag chairs. Smaller tables and chairs lined the walls, human-sized and tiny in comparison. This place reeked of testosterone and sweat. Sharp and musty, she wrinkled her nose at it. Chaotic and undoubtedly male, the Rec room reminded her of a Game Stop and pool hall, mating, having babies, and then simultaneously exploding. She would not be going in there.

They covered the rest of the base. Conference room, Autobot quarters, a shower area, seemingly miles of corridor, and closed doors. Every room designed to accommodate both mechs and humans. Stairs and ledges offered to keep humans out from under the aliens' feet and bring everyone a little closer to eye level. Clean and efficient, the architecture did not boast otherworldly designs, just smooth lines and colorless. Beyond proportions, no hint of H. R. Giger-ish ominous danger.

"Where do the men stay?" Sira asked. "I can smell them." Realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, "I can smell better than a human. I mean, increased sense of smell. I have more olfactory receptors than a human, not that they stink. I can just smell them over the metal and ozone you put off." She covered her face with her hand. "Fuuuck," she muttered to herself.

If her guide noticed her stumbling over her own words, he ignored it. "They have a space assigned to them—a couple of rooms, away from the main section of the base. We recharge in one area; they sleep in the other. There is still some unease between us, and no one wants to be in a helpless state around the other. They have agreed not to enter the corridor containing our quarters, and we do not enter their barracks," Optimus informed her. 

Rounding a corner, a break in the pristine white caught her attention. A series of unrecognizable glyphs decorated the wall. Brightly colored and shaded to create a 3-D effect, they pulled a long sigh from Optimus Prime. Below the art, in carefully blocked letters, someone added, "Communal Refueling and Organic Matter Consumption Area." Below that, unknown vandals hastily scribbled "La Cocina." An arrow even pointed the way.

"I take it that isn't supposed to be there?" she chuckled.

"No." The word sounded of endless suffering and woes.

"What does the pretty part say?" She looked at the Autobot, curious about a new language.

He scowled at the tag art. "I won't repeat it."

"Why not?"

"It is inappropriate and degrading," he lectured.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm an adult. What does it say?" Sira huffed, carefully crossing her arms over her chest.

Sky blue eyes glowed at her. Exasperation shifted the metal of his face and strained his words. "No. I doubt you need to know any more profanity. Would you accept breakfast instead?"

Sira cocked her head to the side and made it as if she had to weigh the offer. "That is a fair trade. Onward then." She patted his thumb with her hand and faced forward. Optimus’s rumbling chuckle vibrated through her, and they moved on.

The enticingly pungent smell of frying bacon made her mouth water. She wanted to lay back in ecstasy, but her stomach grumbled as if it could chew its way out. Hunger pangs made her antsy. She squirmed in the giant palm; discomfort in her leg kept her from jumping out and running to the food. 

Optimus Prime carried her to another massive room, this one filled with oversized bar stools and tables. Along the far wall, a balcony held more reasonable, human-sized furniture and the seductive sizzle of frying bacon. Ratchet leaned against the ledge; her caretaker and apparent nanny held a set of crutches. 

It took her several minutes of careful negotiating to slip out of Optimus Prime's hand and stabilize herself on the crutches. Once she gave both the Autobots a thumbs up, they retreated to a table, some containers of glowing fluid sitting on it.

Negotiating her way through the dining, Sira froze when she saw the man. Dressed in a t-shirt and BDU pants, he worked furiously behind the massive griddle, flipping pancakes and bacon, then pouring more batter. Sira chided herself, she knew humans inhabited the base, and her food had to come from somewhere. Looking over her shoulder, she made sure the aliens still sat at their table. Marveling on how fast she came to trust the metallic species over the one she spent her life around. She sat at the bar dividing the kitchen from the dining.

The man smiled at her, sweat beading on his dark skin. "Hi, Sergeant Epps, and it's my day in the kitchen. May I offer you some pancakes and bacon?" He sat a cup of coffee in front of her.

"Well, I guess I'll have the pancakes and bacon," she replied, watching him pluck a plate off the counter and load it with sizzling strips of meat and several pancakes. "Where is everyone?" she asked as an afterthought. "This looks pretty expansive for just us." She motioned to the convection ovens, multiple griddle tops, freezers, refrigerators, and all the unseen items hiding behind stainless steel doors. 

"Captain Lennox is home with his family. McCormick and Stevenson are on patrol. Koehn is cleaning the barracks, and I'm here. Sister-in-law's visiting, and I refuse to go home." As if he required an explanation for his presence. 

"That's it? There are only five of you? All this for five people?"

"Five of the military's finest, six Autobots and you." He sat the plate full of pancakes and bacon in front of her. "When the Big Guy decorates, he spares none of Uncle Sam's expense. Optimus wants this to be a place for humans and Cybertronians to work together. This…" He waved a spatula in the air, "Is just the beginning. This base is designed to house around a hundred people." He continued cooking, pulling servings off the cooktop but not adding any more. 

After slathering butter on her pancakes and pouring sticky brown syrup, Sira used her fork to cut a bite. She found utter bliss in the sweet pancakes and savory bacon. Trying to remember her manners, she took small bites, hiding her non-human teeth.

Turning off the griddle and wiping everything down, Epps made small talk with her. He told her about his daughters and pet dog. He asked her where she grew up. 

The breakfast went well until he asked, "What is it like growing up among humans? Did you feel alone all the time, or did you have friends?"

Sira froze, holding a piece of bacon between the plate and her mouth. She stared at the man and swallowed hard. 

"I'm sorry," he blurted and rubbed the back of his head with his hand. "The 'Bots told us about you, not wanting any surprises. And honestly, I don't care. Last year I found out we weren't alone in the universe, and this year I learn other species live among us." A sheepish smile played along his face.

Showing her canine teeth, Sira crunched the bacon. Wondering how much the man knew about her. 

Epps did not blanch and continued talking. "I will be honest with you. The Autobots didn't want everyone around when you came to breakfast the first time. You need to get comfy, so to speak, before the rest of the crew are introduced. They can be a rowdy bunch, mechs and men."

Silently she continued her meal, ignoring the awkwardness between her and Epps. Sira wondered what the Autobots said about her. Were they slowly allowing her to adjust? If they wanted her to adapt to the environment and people, did that mean they intended to keep her as a pet or invite her to stay as an equal? She chewed her food and let her mind ruminate on the endless possibilities.

After finishing her meal, the sergeant swept away her plate and cup. She balked, offering to help, but he pointed at the crutches leaning against the bar. 

Heavy footfalls thumped behind her. Turning on her seat, Sira watched Optimus Prime walking towards them. "Would you like to continue the tour," the massive Autobot asked.

Grabbing her crutches, she made it to her feet. "Thank you for breakfast. It was amazing. You are a good cook," she called over her shoulder, already guilty for trying to intimidate him. Hobbling towards the Autobot, she wanted to vacate the area and leave the man behind. Social pleasantries had always made her uncomfortable, especially social pleasantries where everyone present knew her secret.

Once again cupped in the massive hand, Optimus Prime took her down another hallway and through a door. They entered a stadium-sized, circular room. In the center of the chamber, a dais jutted up from the floor, and what could pass for giant handrails surrounded half the platform. Above the dais, a massive hole, black and hungry, marred the perfection of the ceiling. Across from them, a bank of windows looked into the room. Her guide walked across the space. As they passed the opening in the ceiling, Sira twisted to look upwards, wanting to discover the secrets of the inverted pit.

"We are underground," the Autobot stated. "That is the elevator shaft."

Sira lifted her head and sniffed the air. Cold and fresh, the lingering scent of dust and autumn winds excited her. "Can we go outside?" she asked, wanting to see the sky and feel the breeze.

"I planned on it." Optimus Prime smiled down at her. He took her towards the row of windows and entered a smaller room that looked into the larger chamber. The area contained a row of monitors, several chairs, keyboards, and innumerable dials and buttons clung to the back wall. Half of them glowed in shades of blue or mauve; the rest sat dark. 

"What is all this?" Sira asked in a quiet voice. She leaned over his fingers to get a better look

"Central Operation, this is the operations center of the base."

A snort involuntarily erupted from Sira. She twisted to smile up at the massive being. "Either you suck at naming things, or you suck at giving tours."

Optimus glanced away, his face shifting to cover an emotion. "Yes," he mumbled.

For the first time in a long time, Sira laughed. Truly laughed. The stresses of months rolled off of her. The tension, the fear, the uncertainty lifted away, vanished by the awkwardness of this giant.

A small smile shifted his facial plates, as humor danced merrily in the glow of his eyes. With his empty hand, he reached down and pushed several buttons. Screens lit up, and data streams flowed over the monitors. "Perimeter sensors, power output, airflow, refrigeration, water quality. These record anomalies from weather stations around the world," all humor absent from his voice.

"Global weather stations? I can understand domestic ones like NOAA, but why ones in other countries," she asked, genuinely curious.

"The military has denied us access to their satellites. If we had access, we could monitor for Cybertronians nearing the Earth, but now we can only detect disturbances made during atmospheric entry." The disapproval weighed heavy in his voice.

He pushed more buttons, and the moan of heavy machinery coming to life vibrated through the walls. Optimus carried her out of the room and towards the central dais. Stepping up, he laid his free hand against the railing. Beneath them, the floor shuddered and then began to rise. 

Staring upward, Sira watched the gaping maw move closer as they rose towards it. Lights flicked on, illuminating their path and exposing where raw rock met sleek panels. Anchors and bolts stuck out of the stone, hinting that construction continued. Above them, a circular door split along the middle and opened to the world.

Hints of dust, fuel, and oil filtered to Sira. Also, the twitters of birds echoed downward. The thrill of knowing she would soon be outside, on more familiar ground –sent tiny tremors through her body. 

The lift came to a jerking stop. All around, little barn swallows dove and cartwheeled through the rafters. Their sharp calls complained of the intrusion. Sira watched the tiny birds, smiling at their aerobatics. 

Ignoring the swallows for a minute, she glanced around. They stood in a dilapidated airplane hanger. Rust chewed holes in the metal walls, and broken glass from the missing windows sparkled among the dirt and debris on the floor. In one corner, old crates spilled their contents.

"Nice. Decorated in the Early Apocalypse style. I can see why you went underground," Sira mused.

The large mech chuckled. "Any changes to the exterior would attract attention. The interior will eventually be – redecorated. We are secluded here, but people still trespass, so we keep it as we found it."

Optimus walked through the hanger towards the front opening. Somehow, the outside of the building appeared worse than the inside. One door had swung askew and rusted into place; the other lay several hundred feet away on the overgrown runway. Crappy tag art dotted the outside like pimples on a teenager's face. Nearby, a single control tower listed to one side. A "Condemned" sign hung by one rusty nail, slowly rocking in the breeze.

"Jesus, can tetanus be airborne?" the woman mumbled to herself.

Raising his free hand, the Autobot placed it over Sira, cupping as if she were a frog that might hop away. 

"It was a joke, a bad joke. I like your hanger; it's a nice hanger," she yelled into his hand.

The world dropped, and she grabbed the edges of the fingers to steady herself. Then, the hand lifted. Blinking, Sira noticed the ground rose to meet her. 

Choosing a place next to the building, Optimus sat with his legs crossed. The desert view took her breath. The more she stared, the more the austere beauty revealed itself. Clear blue sky overhead kissed the distant mountains washing a deep purple into the crags and ridges. The valley around them shimmered in gold, dotted with rocks of ocher, umber, red, and orange. Among the stones, green plants and spiky cactus clung to life. Spread far apart to soak up what little moisture this dry, unforgiving land offered. She loved the desert. So different from the thick forests and lush undergrowth she usually inhabited. 

"What will you do once you heal?" the Autobot asked, not looking at her.

"I don't really know?" Sira answered her voice nearly a whisper. "I was looking for a new home. I guess that is still my plan." She loathed admitting to running away. Leaving in such a blind panic, she had not thought about what had happened. Shaking her head, she pulled herself back to the present. Forcing her a false smile to wash away her turmoil, she joked, "Do you know of any places I could rent?"

"You can stay here." He tipped his head to watch her. 

A bark of laughter erupted from Sira. "Oh?" She shifted to stretch her healing leg. "And why would I want to stay here?" Her words held jest, hiding her curiosity about the Autobot's offer.

Optimus Prime shifted his gaze beyond her, his focus on the far horizon. He spoke slowly, his words heavy, "It won't be safe for you out there. A war has raged on my world, destroying it. For a million of your Earth years, we Autobots have fought against the Decepticons. Now, this war has come to your planet. I am certain the Decepticons are watching our movements and will quickly learn about you."

The Autobot continued his story. He described the wonders of his home, the wondrous towers of Iacon, of the flurry of life that filled the cities and spaceports. He told her of the oppression and need for justice. He whispered of betrayals and horrors, of the slaughter of his people, the wasting of his planet. He admitted to banishing the All Spark, accidentally bringing the war to Earth.

She sat in his hands, listening with horrific fascination. Not once did she look away or interrupt though a million questions rooted into her mind.

When the Autobot leader completed his tale, the sun had reached its zenith, shrinking the desert shadows before dipping into the western sky. "I have accepted the fact that I will never return to Cybertron and that Earth is my new home."

"You said 'my home' not 'our home. Do your Autobots know you feel this way?" Sira spoke before she realized it. The heat of embarrassment crept along her cheeks, now knowing she talked to the ruler of an entire planet and regretted earlier comments.

His deep voice held ages of pain and sorrow, "My Autobots do not need to know how I feel. They need the hope of returning home. As Supreme Commander, it is my duty to give my people the hope they need."

February 2021


	7. Reservations

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 7: Reservations

XxxX

He enjoyed the early hours of the morning, that still time right before dawn when the humans had not fully awakened, and few mechs moved about. During these solitary hours, he had only his thoughts for company. 

Sitting in Central Ops, Optimus slowly typed commands for a new program into the base computer. The rudimentary machine sufficed, but he missed having a Cybertronian AI. The lights throughout the base brightened to optic-searing levels, then blacked out. 

"Slag," he muttered and deactivated the program. Immediately, the lights blinked back on.

He enjoyed the changes in daylight, the movement of shadows as the sun arched overhead. In an indulgent mood, he wanted to mimic the effect underground. The simple excuse of trying to duplicate natural day and night cycles to maintain humanity's diurnal patterns sounded better than "cool lighting”. Unfortunately, programming had never been one of his strengths. A half-decent A.I. would configure the program for him and suggest improvements.

Giving up for a few minutes, the Prime of Cybertron stood. He arched, stretching his spinal assembly. The need to move stiff joints set his peds in motion. Leaving Central Ops, Optimus headed down a corridor.

Voices echoed to him. To far to make out the conversation, he followed the sounds. As he neared the Commissary, snippets of words became a discussion.

"Why do humans cry?" the jovial tones of Sideswipe asked. 

"Think of it as an emotional overload. Strong emotions cause a person to cry, a visual signal to the rest of the species about that person's mental and emotional state," Sira's velvet voice responded.

Optimus paused outside the doorway, eavesdropping. Sideswipe, though charming and congenial, could quickly become demanding and hostile. While Sira appeared capable of taking care of herself, the small, organic female was – well – a small, organic female. 

"I didn't know humans could overload," Sideswipe chuckled. 

Rolling his optics, Optimus felt the sting of embarrassment, knowing Sira would miss the innuendo. Primus. He offered her a chance to stay with the Autobots, but this ridiculousness might convince her to leave. 

"What are those things? Um. Zebras. Are zebras black with white stripes or white with black stripes?"

A pause before Sira answered, "Probably black with white stripes. I've heard of all black zebras, but not of any all-white zebras."

"Do you spend all day looking up useless facts?"

"Do you spend all day asking useless questions?" she snapped. "Unlike you, I read."

Optimus Prime muted his vocals, keeping a chuckle from exposing his position. He hoped she chose to stay; he enjoyed her feisty nature; it broke the monotony of his war-weary existence. Turning to leave, he heard…

"What's a virgin?"

"A virgin is someone who has yet to have sexual relations," The woman responded immediately.

"Are you a virgin?" lascivious interest darkened the words.

 _Oh, Frag me,_ Optimus thought. _That is enough_. He turned back around and quietly stepped into the room. Sunstreaker leaned against a wall; his arms crossed over his chest. His head hung in boredom. When the warrior looked up, Prime arched a brow in silent accusation. The yellow mech held up his hands, a declaration of noninvolvement.

Sideswipe leisurely leaned towards Sira; his elbow propped on the balcony. The woman sat at a table, a cup in her hand. That mass of auburn hair hung loose and wild; her bare feet rested on the chair across from her. Too-big shorts gapped around muscular legs. A smile graced her lips but did not reflect in her green eyes. 

"I don't see why that is your concern?" she coolly rebuffed the question.

Optimus headed towards the pair. He did not think the red warrior would attempt actual – he shook his helm trying to erase those thoughts.

"Would you like to go for a ride?" Sideswipe queried and softly ran a finger along the edge of the balcony. 

"Excuse me?" Sira's eyebrows shot upward. She glanced to her lap, her lips pursed together. Returning her attention towards Sideswipe, she set her cup on the table. Pulling her legs off the chair, she shifted her weight, planting the balls of her bare feet on the floor to either side of her.

"Are you propositioning me?" all tolerance and humor sliding from her words.

"Well, of course, I'm propositioning you. You're a very petite little femme. I like petite, little femmes. Let's go for a ride."

So focused on the woman, the red Autobot did not realize his commander stood behind him. Optimus intentionally scuffed his ped on the floor, trying to draw the mech's attention away from Sira. 

"Sides, would you even know what to do if she said 'yes'?" Sunstreaker taunted.

Turning to retort, Sideswipe opened his mouth to speak. He flicked his gaze to Optimus, 'Hey, Boss' Bot." Then focused on his twin.

Optimus stared at the smaller Autobot, his arms crossed over his chest, helm tipped to the side.

Armor clanked as Sideswipe jerked. “Fragging slag!” His processor caught up with his vocals. "Just talking to the new femme. Weren't we femme? Tell him we were just talking," desperation haunting his words.

For her part, Sira leaned forward, her hands wrapped around the front edge of her chair. Her eyes glittered wickedly, and her pink tongue rubbed the tip of a sharp fang. "Why would I do that?"

Defeat sagged red armor. 'Figures. Femmes always side with Optimus." He held his hands up, "I'm leaving. And don't look at me like that; I did nothing wrong." Sideswipe slipped past.

The Prime glared at his subordinate, letting his electrical field voice his displeasure. He allowed the smaller mech to make a hasty retreat.

"You were supposed to keep watch," echoed from the hallway. An unintelligible response followed. 

Prime turned towards Sira, quickly closing the distance between them. He dropped his angry charade. 

The woman started laughing. A deep throaty sound, he swore he could feel. "Oh, that was truly priceless," she giggled. "I thought he would shit himself."

Ignoring the crudely worded physiological difference, Optimus opted to point out the obvious. "You are up and functioning."

The wide grin slipped a little, but mirth still flittered from her. "I told you I heal fast. I wouldn't try jumping off this ledge yet but walking and jogging short distances are tolerable."

"So, Ratchet released you?"

Sira looked away, "Yeah, we'll go with that." A smirk quirked her mouth to the side. She relaxed her posture, leaning back in her chair. 

A comfortable silence fell between them as she finished her coffee. 

"Would you like to go somewhere?" he asked.

"Are you asking me to go for a ride?" Sira raised an eyebrow at him. 

Prime held out his hand and ignored the suggestive remark.

**XxxX.**

Well, this is not what she thought Optimus meant by "somewhere." The Prime's office did not offer much in the way of alien adventures. Hopping out of the Autobot's hand, she landed on his desk. The expanse offered nothing to sit on. Sira pouted slightly, getting to sit on a giant, alien tape dispenser might be added to her bucket list.

The wall at the far end of the office split, and a gap hissed open. Optimus disappeared through a door; darkness obscured the space and swallowed the Autobot when he entered.

With nothing to do, Sira plopped herself down. Sitting cross-legged, she propped her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand. 

Returning, Optimus held her backpack, dangling by a strap between his thumb and index finger.

Remaining seated, Sira reached for it. As her hands touched the rough canvas, he released his hold. Dropping the bag in front of her, she immediately opened it and began inventorying the contents. 

The Autobot leader raised his other hand. Her sword resembled a toothpick between his fingers. Laying the blade near her, he pulled out a chair and sat at his desk. He relaxed his elbows on the armrests, letting his hands dangle. He gave her the entire surface of his workstation.

Her meager possessions spread out around her, she reached in the bag with both hands. Sira felt along the edge of a seam; her fingers located the gap between the stitches. Pulling, the threads popped, and the false bottom came loose. A velvety bag lay where she left it. She removed it and set it aside. Rummaging in the bag again, she pulled a plastic bag of bills out. Opening the bag, she quickly counted the cash. All there.

Turning her attention to the midnight blue bag, she unknotted the strings and shuffled the contents. In the shadows of the fabric, gemstones sparkled and glittered, and several small bars of metal glowed. All that remained of her workshop. She sighed in relief. The cash would serve to get her set up, but this bag held her future financial security. The raw materials themselves were worth a considerable amount, but she could make five times as much money forming it into jewelry. 

"I would not allow Simmons to take any of your possessions," Optimus stated bluntly.

Looking at her savior and weirdly attentive guardian, Sira doubted anyone challenged the Prime, and he would ensure she kept her belongings. "Yes, thank you. The government tends to confiscate things it might find useful."

"Once Agent Simmons attempted to confiscate Bumblebee; thought he would be 'useful,'" his voice dark as cold energy floated between them.

Pulling the strings, Sira closed the bag then tied it shut. Carefully she laid the money and velvet bag in the bottom of the backpack. Next, Sira picked up a shirt and pressed it against her nose. Inhaling deeply, the scents of familiarity filled her. Shutting her eyes, for a moment, she transported across the continent: the tang of dried herbs, vanilla candles, crisp grass, and the earthy musk of the forest, the smells of home. A wave of emotions tightened her chest and dampened her eyelashes.

Sira opened her eyes and sniffled. The present crashed back, evaporating the shafts of sunlight flickering through emerald trees. Folding the clothing, she stuffed it into the backpack and her emotions with it. 

Near her, a metal giant sat in his chair; regal and relaxed, he watched her. His scrutiny weighed on her, the light from those sky-blue eyes pressing against her. Pausing her repacking, she reached over and pulled her sword closer. Knowing the weapon lay within arms reach quelled the chattering fear in her mind, even though logic said the blade was useless against Optimus Prime.

"Why do you have those items?" the goliath asked.

Looking up from rearranging her belongings, Sira shrugged her shoulders. "What items?"

"The gemstones and metals," ageless patience carried in the statement.

Setting aside a pair of pants, Sira closed the flap on the backpack and snapped the buckles into place. She stood and shimmied out of the too big shorts. Bending at the waist, she grabbed her pants and slid a leg into them. The realization that she just undressed in front of this being hit her. As quickly as she could, she slipped the other leg in and pulled the jeans up, snapping them in place. Dropping next to the backpack, she pulled her knees up and draped her arms around them. Smiling awkwardly up at the Autobot, she explained, "I am a silversmith by trade. I make jewelry and sell it. That bag carries the contents of the safe in my workshop. I promise it is all mine. I didn't rob a diamond broker or anything." 

If the Autobot found offense with her casual nudity, he did not acknowledge it. "What happened?" Optimus asked quietly, "Why did you leave your life behind?"

Her jaw tightened, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Forgetting her social faux pas, Sira remained perfectly still. Only the catch in her breath hinted at the dark emotions rising within her. Several minutes slithered by, and she considered telling the alien to fuck off. Instead, she spoke in clipped tones. "My father studied the occult, academically. I grew up in a house full of grimoires and artifacts. Many of my designs were based on arcane symbols and symbolism."

She looked away, focusing on the past and hugging her legs to her chest. "A group of occultist radicals decided I had secrets to life and death, or some long lost amulet or something. They tried to contact me, and I ignored them. One night, they broke into my house. Fortunately, I heard them. I confronted what I thought was a single intruder in the hallway. Instead, ten people had entered my house. I..." She paused, unsure how much to admit to.

"You defended your home?" the Autobot prompted, his gaze steady and unflinching.

Sira nodded. "They did not realize my differences. Shock can freeze humans into inaction. I used the seconds to run to my shop, bar the door. After cleaning out the safe, I grabbed my sword and climbed out a window. The last I saw, they razed my house before burning it down."

"Who were they?"

"A group of psychotics," she spit. "Overly entitled assholes that think they deserve anything they want." A growl of disgust exposed her fangs. Breathing heavily, Sira struggled against the creeping violence stalking the shadows of her emotions. 

Composing herself, she stared at Optimus. "I took a life, and I ran. I did not go to the authorities. I did not try to salvage the remains of what was. I ran."

The Autobot slowly blinked then leaned forward. The aura around him hummed with power. "Are you still running?"

"I don't know."

XxxX

After meeting with the Prime of Cybertron, disquiet longing brushed against her like old spiderwebs. Sira sat against the derelict control tower and half hoped it would choose that moment to fall over and crush her. Cross-legged on the dirt, she flicked tiny pebbles as her mind turned upon itself. 

Her father practically beat her solitary nature into her—harsh bodily penalties for wanting to play with other children or seeking closeness. But here, here in this wasteland of dry dirt, someone offered her a friendship of sorts, a place to call home and others to belong with. Dreams she had given up long ago instantly became obtainable if she would reach out and grab them. Yet, she could not. She could not just say "yes." Knowing pain and suffering came with caring about others, fear stayed her hand and stilled her voice.

Reaching down, she picked up a stone and held it to the light; deep red streaks shot through the coppery brown. Hard and shiny, she wondered what geologic forces created such a rock. Setting it aside, she chose a different pebble to flick into the distance. A breeze ruffled her hair, and she pulled an errant lock out of her face. Reaching up, she began braiding the chaotic mass, more to keep it from annoying her than actual style. Reaching the ends, she let it hang. The curls and texture would hold the braid for a while without a hair-tie.

But why shouldn't she stay here? The Autobots were not human and obviously accustomed to dealing with different species, and the humans here already accepted her existence. As long as she kept low and continued to mimic the humans…

Then the What-Ifs began their demoralizing whispers. What if the government decided to cage her? What if the Autobots went back to Cybertron? What if the humans decided she was dangerous? What if they decided she could not pull her weight? What would she do to make herself useful to giant alien robots? What if the correct path was to leave and she did not choose it? What if… what if… what if?

She buried her face in her dusty hands to mute the frustrated scream. 

The ground beneath her moaned. Low and deep, more of a vibration than a sound. Someone had activated the elevator. She did not leave her spot to investigate. The sun warmed her; she barely cleared out the pebbles in one small area. Hiding behind an OSHA violation kept her from doing or saying anything stupid. 

Returning to her mission of haphazardly rearranging the indigenous gravel, she lobbed a larger rock, unimpressed with the lack of distance. Sira ignored the footfalls crushing the quartzite into a fine powder. The mammoth steps neared her, and the sun disappeared behind a metal giant. Still, she refused to look up and went back to flicking the smaller stones away from her. 

"I googled Patricia Ainsley. Your artwork is beautiful," Optimus complimented.

Heat began to warm Sira's cheeks, and she tucked her hands in her lap. "Thank you," she mumbled, unaccustomed to praise. 

Awkwardness hung between them and stretched with the daylight. A small slip of plastic fell from above and bounced off the gravel. Reaching for it, Sira noticed the word "VISA" in the corner. Holding the card between her finger and thumb, she finally looked towards the Autobot. "What is this?"

Backlit by the sun, Optimus tipped his head to the side; blue eyes glowed from the shadows. "It is a credit card."

Exasperated, Sira craned her neck to look the behemoth in the eye. "I know what it is. Why did you drop this at me?"

"Because you need supplies and clothing. Also, Koehn would like the rest of his clothes back."

She flicked the credit card, watching it join the scattering of pebbles and stones she launched earlier. "You are not buying me anything. I have my own money."

The Autobot squatted, narrowing the considerable distance between them. A ghostly smile tipped the plates of his mouth. "The U.S. Government is buying you supplies; I do not possess a line of credit on this planet."

Sira stared at the alien, tempted to ask how many planets and what kind of credit he had access to. The concept of interplanetary lines of credit opened up the realization of interplanetary debit. Stuffing that line of thoughts away for later, she stood and stretched, arching her back. Walking to where the abused piece of plastic lay, Sira picked it up. Wiping the dust off, she slipped the credit card into her pocket. Hands on her hips, she smiled at Optimus. "Well, if Uncle Sam is paying for it, let's go shopping, bitches."

Sira trailed behind Optimus to the derelict hanger. A cold north wind rattled through the rusty structure, reminding her she did need to expand her wardrobe. "How am I going to get to town?" she asked.

Optimus turned to face her. He stepped backward, his head nearly brushing the rafters above. The clicks and whirs of hundreds of gears and thousands of pieces of metal sliding out of place set the barn swallows a flight. Before her eyes, Optimus fell apart. Yet, he did not, for nothing hit the ground, instead the pieces just rearranged themselves. Some parts moved to the inside, while others she had never seen became visible. The Autobot compacted in size. Within seconds, the final bits of a Peterbilt semi slid into place.

"Op ... Optimus?" was all she could say. Dust motes glowed in the shafts of sunlight and settled around the red and blue truck.

She heard the familiar deep chuckle, and the driver-side door opened. "I believe the phrase is, 'get in loser; we are going shopping.'"

"I don't even want to know why you would know that," Sira laughed, a hesitant smile pulling at her lips. Her legs remained frozen in place, so she admired the gleaming red and blue flames from where she stood.

"You don't want to be seen around town in that old thing. I'll take you out in style." Sideswipe purred, walking into the hanger. Twisting in the middle, he collapsed into a sleek, scarlet red Lamborghini Gallardo. He slowly rolled towards her. 

Sira stifled a giggle; the old joke about sports cars and male genitals' size crossed her mind. Never mind that the male turned into a sports car and could squash her like a bug. Best to keep that one quiet, she decided.

A golden yellow Murcielago crept into the hanger. He stopped a few feet inside the door.

"And Sunstreaker," Sira guessed. 

The Autobot's engine purred seductively. A velvet rumble that hinted at dark, dangerous things and sent chills up her spine. Right there, she decided to stay away from the aloof, yellow Autobot.

She walked back to the Peterbilt. Tracing her fingers along the flames painted in Prime's armor, she cooed, "Pity, I've never been one for the pretty boys." Stepping up, she slipped into the cab.

"That was unnecessary and hurtful," Sideswipe echoed behind her.

**XxxX**

Most of the drive to Tranquility Sira spent in silence, content to watch the world pass by. Eventually, she stated, "I'm sitting in you."

"Yes." The answer radiated from everywhere around her.

"No, I'm really sitting in you," Sira repeated. Leaning, she rested her arm against the door, then tucked it back into her lap, unsure of the etiquette for riding in an alien sentient semi.

"Does this bother you? My alternate form is that of a large ground transportation vehicle. It is reasonable to have someone sit in me from time to time." His smooth, dulcet tones, probably meant to reassure, only made her more aware of her body touching him. 

"Can you feel me?" she asked, her mouth spewing the words before she thought about them.

"Do you want to know the answer to that question?" humor leaking into his words.

"Umm, no," she answered truthfully. Another thought sprung to life. "If the government is buying my clothes, does this mean I can't leave?"

Optimus pulled into the Tranquility Mall's parking lot and chose a spot in a far corner. "You have not made a decision, but you have not left. The government would prefer you stay, as would I. So, instead of waiting for an answer from you, we are going forward to help you establish a permanent home with us." 

Sira made no move to get out. She stared at the dash, her hands still in her lap. "Doesn't it bother you that the government wants all of the non-humans in one area? Hey yeah, sure. Let's build a reservation for any sentient non-hominid. Do you realize how shitty the government's track record is with reservations and anything they consider – less? And don't you find it suspicious that they want everyone like us in one convenient location?"

A sigh resonated from the semi. "You are not the first to make such an observation. We are fully aware the humans may betray us. Another reason I would like for you to stay. I offer you protection, an alliance against that possibility."

After a few seconds of digesting the offer. Placing her hand on the door, Sira asked, "Are you going to be alright out here alone?"

"I will be fine. Bumblebee is on his way. He wants to talk with me."

"Well, I guess I should go spend some tax dollars. And if I live with you, where will I live?"

"There are different options. We can discuss these later."

The woman hopped out of the cab, already making a list of must-have items. A yellow Camaro with black striping honked at her and pulled next to Optimus Prime. Heading towards the large glass entrance, Sira wondered how much she could spend and decided on as small an amount as possible.

February 2021


	8. Contingencies

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 8: Contingencies

XxxX 

Ratchet knocked on the door and waited.

After a few Earth minutes, he knocked again. Crossing his arms over his chest, his facial plates dripped into a scowl.

His fist rapped out the third series of thumps followed by a locational ping for good measure. He understood the Primes directive to use human-like gestures and practices, but it still irked the medic. Somedays, Ratchet wondered if the Prime simply enjoyed tormenting his subordinates or if his fascination with Earth and its practices bordered on excessive. As he contemplated the need to knock, it became apparent the commanding officer was elsewhere. The medic punched his security code in the keypad and the door slid open.

Entering the austere room, he tossed his datapad on the desk, glad to have finished the supply reports. The vibrations jostled the Prime's workstation out of "stand by" mode. The screen flickered on, glowing steadily. Habit more than curiosity pulled his gaze to the screen. A glance and he turned to go back to his medbay. As his processor caught up with his optical relays, he froze. Going back to the workstation, he had to double-check to make sure he saw what he thought he saw. The schematics he found held his attention. Leaning in for a better view, his fingers danced over the keyboard, scrolling through the pages in the data file. The presence of another brushed against his electrical field.

Jerking upright, Ratchet snapped, "Here is the supply list you requested, Sir." Wanting to leave before Optimus noticed his snooping, the medic hastily turned towards the exit, only to have the larger mech blocking his escape.

The Prime closed the door to his office, his steady gaze oddly congenial for catching someone reading his private files. "What do you think?" Optimus queried, gesturing towards the computer.

Ratchet voiced his genuine opinion. "If this is what I think it is, you have blown your central processor."

Prime patted the medic's shoulder as he walked around the desk to take a seat. Opening the files, Optimus turned the screen and offered them to Ratchet.

Ignoring the silent invitation, Ratchet stammered, "If the Earth governments find out, they will turn their entire nuclear arsenal against us. Why would you come up with such an idea?"

Leaning against the back of his chair, Optimus dismissively stated, "Bumblebee brought it up, and I told him I would look into it. Could you look at the designs? Please tell me your honest opinion. Are they viable?"

Ratchet ran his hands down his face. Of all the ridiculous, scandalous, socially outrageous stunts Optimus pulled over the vorns; this one had to be the worst. The medic set his aft on the edge of the desk and leaned over the display. Taking control of the files, he flipped through them, making mental notes and running well-practiced calculations. 

After some time, Ratchet gave his assessment. "It will require some changes for viability. The question is, where do we get the supplies and energy? We are surviving on the bare minimum as it is." The medic held up his hand to forestall any comments. "Perhaps we can do this, but why would you want to? This is in direct violation of the Third Triaxian Decree, which is punishable by death, in case you forgot."

Optimus scooted his chair back, giving the medic space. Crossing one leg over the other, he laced his fingers together and relaxed. "We can barter for the raw materials, and energy output is increasing." His voice deepened, "Ratchet, we are running out of options. This war is one of attrition. We have the All Spark again, and it is healing, but it will be several millennia before it can create new sparks. No new life until the All Spark is whole, so we must consider other options. Honestly, I couldn't give a frag about the laws of Cybertron; they have done nothing but fuel contempt, injustice, and war." 

The medic shifted. Keeping his seat on the desk and faced his Prime. He cycled deeply as he never discussed with anyone his fears for their species. Knowing their planet was dying and removing the All Spark from the Well of Sparks ensured their inevitable extinction. "Say this works, how will you decide? The ethical implications are staggering."

"Necessity will decide," came the solemn reply. The Prime glanced away, hinting at a depth of emotions surrounding his thoughts. "If you have different options, I would like to hear it. 

"When would you like for me to get started?" The medic sighed, knowing the Prime better than most. The challenge ignited his curiosity, and without the constant stream of injured the war produced, he found this calmer existence a bit boring.

"I will not begrudge you if you refuse. This is a request, not an order." 

The comment pulled a grunt from the older Autobot. "Optimus, if I said no, you would continue with this asinine idea anyways. Later, you would ask me to fix one little problem. I'd say yes. In fixing that one little problem, I would discover countless others. When I finally finished, I would have rebuilt the slaggin' thing from the floor up. No, I'll start now and build this correctly the first time." The CMO continued, "You realize the humans have a saying, 'the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'"

"If this is true, then we were all damned at the start of this war."

February 2021


	9. Comradery

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 9: Comradery

**_XxxX_ **

_Crap, it was cold! Colder than a well digger's ass. Colder than a witch's titty._ Colder than whatever colorful analogy came to mind. Sira did not want to sit outside, in the middle of winter, holding a beer. A beer, for fuck's sake! A cold beer! She hated the cold, and she hated beer. 

Her evening had started out amazingly. Alone, curled up with a cup of Earl Gray and a tattered Kurt Vonnegut novel, in the warmth of the base. Until that flame-painted monstrosity had to ruin her evening.

"Why are you not at the bonfire?" he asked.

"I don't do bonfires with gun-toting, army types. Not really my scene. Thanks for the invite," she said without taking her eyes off the book.

He knelt, minimizing the distance between them. "You are expected to go. The others have requested your presence," his tone gave little room for an argument.

Delicately, she set the cup aside and stuffed a dried leaf in the book to mark her page. "You can't make me," she challenged back, narrowing her eyes at the mech.

Cobalt blue optics glowed with amusement. The tension in the room shifted, and Sira frowned at Optimus.

Muscles tightening, Sira continued to stare at the Autobot looming over her. She slowly pulled a knee to her chest, anchoring the ball of that foot against the chair she sat in.

The Prime narrowed his optic shutters, facial plates shifted ever so slightly into an arrogant smirk.

Sira launched herself up and sideways out of the chair. Landing, she rolled to her feet and bolted away from Optimus. She dodged left, but it did not matter. A massive hand scooped her up, gently curling around her. Evading a giant's reach took practice, and so far, she failed at this game every time. 

"I hate you," she pouted.

"No, you don't," he stated with confidence.

Now, physically forced to leave the sanctity of her solitary evening, she sat as close to the fire as possible without setting herself ablaze. Chaotic curls of hair hung in her face like jungle vines. With animosity, she speared another marshmallow on the thin metal. Roasting it over the fire, she watched the sugar slowly caramelize. 

Epps sat near her and attempted casual conversation. She did not know what to say to these men. Their lives were so different; they may as well not be from the same planet. She had never traveled overseas, lacked family and children, and did not know the first thing about any sports. She had no clue who they gossiped about. She sat there, part of a group she did not belong to. 

Sira glanced towards the Autobots reclining further away. The Cybertronians softly talked among themselves; containers of iridescent fluid rested beside each of them. Had the aliens sat closer to the fire, she would have joined them instead. Pulling her marshmallow away from the flame, she carefully removed the sugary napalm and ate it. 

The crunch of shoes on gravel lifted her head. Habitually she sniffed the air and choked on the smoke from the fire. Coughing and sneezing, Sira ignored the arrival of two more until her sinuses cleared. Finally composing herself, Sira shouted over the fire to Optimus, "Thanks, I will smell nothing but smoke for a week." 

The Prime dared to give her a thumbs-up gesture. Sideswipe muttered something she could not decipher and earned a chilling glare from Optimus. 

Sira decided she did not want to know and turned her attention to the newcomers. Across the fire sat a young man, barely out of adolescence, and a beautiful young woman. They cuddled together, his hand wrapped possessively around her hip. 

"This is Mikaela and Sam," Epps gestured towards the couple. "They are moving to the base for protection. Sam killed Megatron, and there is concern the remaining Decepticons will retaliate."

This information forced Sira to reappraise the young man. She only knew what the others had told her about Megatron and had a hard time reconciling this skinny, twitching dork as someone capable of such heroism. Yet, life had taught her to not judge on appearances alone.

Sira pulled her hair out of her face and offered the duo a tight-lipped smile. She plucked another marshmallow out of the bag and skewered it. 

"Wow, your eyes glow in the dark!" Sam blurted out, and Mikaela slapped him in the arm.

Sira jerked, stunned, then laughed nervously. "Actually, my eyes don't glow. They reflect light, like a cat's."

"Oh. Optimus told everyone that you weren't human, and I kinda' thought – well - you look so normal." Sam stammered, his hands dancing in erratic gestures.

She wanted to snap, "what did you think I would look like?" Instead, she focused on her marshmallow she accidentally set ablaze. Blowing it out, she noticed everyone staring at her. It took several seconds for her brain to realize they all wanted to know about her, like know know about her.

 _Fuck_. Within her head, Sira drew the word out to a multisyllabic curse rivaling that song by Mary Poppins. Verbally, she fumbled, "Yes, I – uh - appear human; otherwise, I wouldn't have survived long. Um - My father, who was human, raised me. He taught me how to play nice, use a toilet, not eat the neighbors." 

Apparently, the joke went over everyone's head, and Sira immediately regretted the comment. "I don't eat people; that was a bad joke." She ran her hands through her hair and let a tangle fall in front of her face. Rounding her shoulders, she sunk into herself and considered leaving the get-together.

"Cool, do you have mutant powers or superhuman abilities?" Sam asked, excitement lighting his eyes as he leaned towards her. "You can see in the dark, right?" he asked. Charging ahead with the gusto and innocence only the young could possess.

"Yes," Sira drew out the word. "I can see in near darkness."

"Do you have super hearing too?" 

She looked towards Epps, confused at the turn of events. He only offered her another beer. She took it, uncertain what else to do. Glancing around, flames flickered on curious faces. Popping the tab, she took a drink of the cold, bitter liquid. Grimacing, she shook her head against the bite of hops. "I have very acute hearing and smell." Tipping the can back, Sira chugged half of it. 

"How do you smile without showing your…?" Sam pointed to his teeth.

"A lot of practice. Any more questions?" she quipped, not really expecting the discussion to continue.

"Are you super strong?"

Before she could answer, Stevenson rolled his sleeve up and flexed his muscles. A tattooed arm as thick as her thigh bulged in the firelight. "Are you stronger than this?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

"I have quicker reflexes and better co-ordination, but a well-trained person could stomp my ass." Humor lightened her answer, and she finished her beer. Sitting the empty can at her feet, she considered another marshmallow.

"We could arm wrestle and test that out." Stevenson kissed his impressive bicep.

Surrendering before the competition could start, Sira held up her hands. Laughing with a toothy smile, she suggested, "Let's don't and say we did; therefore, you win by default." 

"So, you are super-fast?" McCormick added to the Q and A.

"No, but I can out sprint most humans for a short distance. Humans are designed for long-distance running," Sira admitted. Another beer magically appeared in her hand. She took a long swig. 

"Are you indestructible?" Lennox asked, his face and tone serious.

The beer buzzed merrily in her head and relaxed her inhibitions. She snorted. "Like, only a silver bullet can kill me? Shit, no. I've had more broken bones, cuts, and scrapes to count. Actually, I'm pretty sure a lead injection would do the trick." She pointed her index finger to her temple, mimicking a gun.

"So basically, you're not human, but you don't have any special abilities."

The more she drank, the smoother the beer went down. "Yeah, that's it in a nutshell. Not human but nothing special." What they did not know would not hurt her. Sira wanted another beer and wondered about the etiquette. Was she supposed to wait? Could she just ask for another one? 

She took a long breath, inhaling the heady combination of smoke, fresh air, human musk, and metal. The alcohol made her head fuzzy, dulling her senses, and loosened her human façade. Lifting her head, she gazed at the firmament above them. The crisp autumn night held more stars than she dared to count. Ageless and impassionate, their light carried across the universe for billions of years and ignited a need within her. She never understood why the stars moved her so profoundly. Why, in rare moments, she thought she could hear their pitiless whispers. Tonight, she wanted to hunt, strip free of human clothing and become her true self. She wanted to run and disappear in the black velvet of the night.

A bump against her shoulder snapped her back to the gathering around her. Epps handed her another beer, the fire paining orange and yellow lines of concern on his dark face. 

"You OK?" he asked quietly.

Afraid she might have slipped, Sira confessed, "I don't drink often. I might be getting drunk. In for a penny, in for a pound," she clanked her can against his and pulled a long drink. 

Mikaela asked the next question. "So, what are you. I mean like we," she gestured at the assemblage near the fire, "are humans. The Autobots are Cybertronian. What are you if it isn't rude to ask?"

Sira measured the woman-child with the smooth raven hair and crystalline eyes. What could she say that would explain her twisted existence and not sound like a freak? But she was a freak, something that rational thought deemed nonexistent in the modern world. Perhaps it was the beer, or the need to belong, or exhaustion from simply living, but she began, hesitantly pulling out the words. "I don't really know what I am."

All eyes and optics locked onto her, and she felt the weight of unspoken thoughts and questions. Instead of cringing at the truth, she focused on the dancing flames in front of her and continued. "I have never known my people. The man I call father raised me among humans. He said he took me to save my life. But I have always wondered if he told the truth. He was a harsh man, at times a cruel man, but he offered education, training, and rules to learn how to blend and live in civilization. When I asked about my people, he just brushed me off, saying I was better for not knowing." She smiled a sad smile. "I have read and researched mythologies and legends, trying to figure out what I am, but I only find hints, little teases of information I can't wrangle the truth from."

"Why would you read mythology to learn what, who you are?"

Sira did not identify the speaker; she may have imagined the question between the slosh of alcohol and her sinking mood, but she answered it anyway. "Understand that humans are not the first sentient species to have evolved on this planet. There have been others. It's just that mankind has been the most successful: easily adaptable, obnoxiously tenacious, and virulent breeders. Look into your own mythologies, and you glimpse those that lived during the dawning of your species. 

"My father was an occultist and into some really weird shit. He studied magic and mysticism, science and religion, alchemy and chemistry. He wanted the deep truth, the unifying power of the cosmos and the soul. He didn't want to turn lead into gold; he wanted to advance humans into the next step or phase or whatever. He wanted to harness the power of everything."

The fire burned. Swirling tongues of flames lept upwards; they birthed floating embers desperate to leave the Earth and join their brethren in the sky. 

"Power?" Ironhide asked.

Sira nearly tipped over trying to crane her neck backward to see the Autobot. She recovered and kicked over a half-full Coors, the suds sizzling as they neared the fire. "Knowledge is power. One man's science is another man's magic. If you Autobots had come to Earth only a scant two hundred years ago, you would be seen as demons. You are an advanced civilization, not mythical beings. Your science is different from ours, but it should still follow the same rules of physics or the universe or whatever. It is a different -," the alcohol jumbled her thoughts. "The same gemstone, but a different facet catching the light.

"Dear old Dad wanted to understand the entire gemstone, to bridge that gap between magic and science. He believed there was a truthier truth, a way to harness the universe's power and energy and creation. Open the third eye or whatever and push humanity towards abilities…" She stopped, biting off the words that threatened to tumble off her tongue. _Like mine,_ she answered in her head.

"Like?" prodded Lennox, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Like, fuck, I am drunk." Sira leaned her head against Epps's shoulder. "The old man was bat-shit crazy. He would have loved quantum mechanics. Wave Theory and eye-of-newt, stir that over low heat until reduced, serve with Pastafarianism." She snort-giggled at the esoteric joke.

Epps chuckled, bouncing her head and making the world spin faster. "You are one weird lady."

She laughed. "Duh. I'm not human." 

The group around the fire shared the awkwardness with laughter, then conversations started to drift in different directions. Unusually content, Sira listened to the humans talk. She had never been part of any group, no close friends, never part of a book or a garden club. Hell, the only thing close to belonging she experienced came from a library card, in the long rows of books, she could occasionally find superficial comradery with a fellow bibliophile. She envied the humans. They were free to form personal connections, to simply hang out and be together, to share and laugh. Straightening and no longer using Epps as a pillow, she looked through the flames towards the Autobots. 

Optimus stirred and shifted his peds beneath him, then stood. An orange, flickering glow from the fire seemed to ignite his flame-covered armor. Deep blue optics glowed in the night. The Autobot leader became an elemental god. A warrior of fire and light; something to bow down to, to fear, to worship. His presence alone quieted voices and pulled everyone's attention like gravity pulled lesser objects towards a massive star. 

"I have received communications from Prowl, Hound, and Wheeljack. They intend to arrive in the solar system within two Earth months. Wheeljack was injured during a skirmish with Decepticons. He is stable but needs repairs. The plan is for him to make Earthfall as their ship nears. From that point, they intend to slingshot around the local star and rendezvous with a small group of Autobots hiding in a nearby star system. Finally coming here."

Strangely, the mechs gave Ratchet sideways glances, and for his part, the CMO remained impassive, ignoring them.

The Prime continued but addressed the medic, "If you would like to discuss this in private, feel free to do so."

Ratchet nodded briefly, then took a sip from his glowing container.

The gathering continued into the night with a bottle of something that burned the throat. Sira, inebriated and tired, stumbled towards the base, only to find a closer place to collapse. Curled next to the Prime's ped, she finally gave in to the booze and allowed herself to drift into semi-consciousness.

**_XxxX._ **

He watched from a distance, a dark spot in the dark night.

Rarely did all the Earth-bound Autobots gather so openly and casually. While confident, one or more of them watched the surrounding landscape for threats; they appeared relaxed. Usually, he would attempt an ambush, but not this time. Five seasoned warriors and the Prime against him, the battle would not accomplish anything for the Decepticon cause. He liked to take risks, but not suicidal risks, tonight he would observe.

As the ridiculous display of frivolity carried on into the night, he paid close attention to the organics present. Perhaps he could exploit a weakness there. 


	10. Searching

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 10: Searching

XxxX

Somehow, between the ending of the bonfire and dawn, Optimus lost Sira. 

Ironhide laughed and chided him, "How the frag did you misplace your tiny, inebriated femme? Maybe you should get a leash for her and chain her to your recharge bunk at night." 

The Prime scowled at his friend, not appreciating the jokes or insinuation that Sira belonged to him. Turning on his ped, he set off to find the missing female, hoping she had not decided to continue her search for a new home.

First, he went to her quarters, a small room designed for a solitary mech, converted to accommodate a small organic, away from the resident humans. He tapped on her door before overriding the lock. Lights showed her bed rumpled and slept in, backpack resting nearby, but her sword was missing. Ruffling through a pile of discarded clothes, he pulled out her coat and continued looking for her.

With calm, measured movements, the Prime walked through the base, not wanting to arouse suspicions or earn anymore teasing. Sira did not appear in any of her regular haunts. In the commissary, her table near the ledge corner sat empty; no worn book or half drank tea. He dropped by the rec room, in the off chance she felt unusually sociable, the twins played a game, their avatars pointy-eared humanoids. The darker, seldom used hallways remained uninhabited. The massive conference room echoed emptily. The more he searched, the more he decided she had left the base. 

Optimus quickly cleared the nearly empty hanger on the surface, even glancing upward on the off chance the woman climbed to the rafters. Just the noisy little birds, chittering angrily at him. Walking into the morning light, the Prime turned in a tight circle, optics scanning to the horizon. A flutter of red against the rugged landscape hinted at the missing female's location.

Cycling his vents, Optimus strolled towards his target. Past the cold ashes of the bonfire, beyond the collapsing fence, and into the windblown desert. As he neared, the flutter of red became coppery wisps of hair whipped by the wind. 

Sira sat on her heels, her hands pressed against the dry dirt; the handle of the sword strapped to her back tangled in the riot of red curls. The thin fabrics of her clothes would not protect her from the wintery temperatures. 

"Go away, Prime," the woman growled, her tone as hard as the rocks around her.

Optimus dropped the coat near her. "The temperature is almost forty degrees, and you are without winter clothing."

She raised a hand and wiped her eyes. "Just leave me alone," her voice shook as her hands curled into the dirt

"No," he stepped around her and knelt before her. "You are distressed. What has happened to cause this?" the Autobot asked.

"Go away. It's not your concern," Sira snapped. Bolting upward, she turned away from him and began walking towards the open desert. 

He pulled himself to his peds and slowly followed her, refusing to let the irate woman out of his sight again. "When one of my people becomes this distraught, it is my concern."

"None of your people are involved. We both know I don't belong here. I eat meals with these people, but I am not one of them. I don't even know what I am. Do you know how embarrassing that is to not even know the name of your species? FUCK!" She continued walking away from him.

Realizing she left her coat behind, the Prime backtracked to where he found her. He watched her continue to walk away, her feet stirring up a small trail of dust. Carefully, he plucked the garment out of the dirt.

"You are one of my people," he called towards her as his long strides rapidly closed the distance between them.

Sira stopped and faced him. A snarl exposing her long, white canines. "I'm not one of your people!" she screamed, then threw her arms wide to encompass the entire landscape. "I'm not anyone's people. I don't belong anywhere." She spun and continued stomping into the desolate landscape. "I'm just a charity case! Something you can pity! Does having me around make you feel all warm and fuzzy about yourself?"

"I have never considered you a charity case," Prime snapped back.

"Oh, so what am I?" Sira spun on him again and stalked towards him. "Am I a toy? A pet to keep under your thumb? A side project?" every word dripped with venom and condescension.

Optimus knelt before her, his hand outstretched, offering her the coat. "I consider you a friend."

Stopping, Sira glared at him. Barely contained emotions contorted her face, then she screamed her rage. Dropping to her knees, the femme tangled her fingers in her hair. Tears flowed freely as hard sobs racked her body.

He had weathered her storm, and now he watched. His spark ached for the femme, wanting to take her pain and anger, unsure if the comforting touch organics craved so much would be welcome.

"Sira, what has happened?" concern thick in his words.

Collapsing further, her legs skewed to the side, Sira did not answer him. The mass of hair hid part of her face. She shook her head, and tears fell from her, creating tiny, wet craters in the hardpan dust.

"Sira, talk to me. Please."

"I came out here to call to others like me. I could feel the churning heart of the Earth, the rush of living beings, and you, but no one like me to answer the call." She buried her fingers in the desert dirt and shut her eyes. 

A soft pulse brushed against his energy field, a questioning touch. Optimus stood his ground, allowing the warmth to wrap around and past him.

"Over the years, I felt the call of others like me, the whispers of their energy pulling at me. I always ignored it - them, but I knew they were there – alive, waiting."

"Why did you not seek out your people?" Prime softly whispered the question.

Sira raised her head and looked at him; fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am afraid. Since I could remember, Father told me horrors of what they would do to me. Of a slow, brutal death." She barked a bitter laugh. "He told me the same things about humans. I don't know if he was really trying to protect me or keep me to himself. I lived in fear. My whole life, I have been afraid. Afraid of humans. Afraid of my people. Afraid of myself. Afraid of what I can do. How do I stop being afraid?" She looked at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears and questions. Then, her shoulders dropped in defeat. "I like being here, with you, and them, but I'm afraid you will make me leave if – "

Words escaped him. He wanted to scoop the woman up and pull her against him, to dry her tears and tell her she had nothing to fear. Yet, he could not do any of those things. Sira's words anchored into his own fears. The war had decimated Cybertron and his people. He feared the last generation of Cybertronians had been sparked, and he would bear witness to the end of his species. The roiling conflictions within his spark choked his vocals. 

After an astrosecond of fumbling, the Prime finally mumbled, "You are cold; you need to warm up." Offering the coat again, slight relief trickled through him as she took it, shrugged off the sword and slipped into the heavy garment. Stepping back, he transformed into his alt mode and vented heat into his cab. Rolling towards her, he opened a door. "Come, get warm."

Secured in her coat, sheathed sword in hand, Sira struggled to her feet. Head hanging in defeat, she held her weapon close to her. "I don't want to go back. Not right now."

"Then we will not go back until you are ready." 

Sira climbed into his cab, her weight barely noticeable in the driver's seat. Optimus shut his door. He drove away from the base, planning to intersect a secondary road.

March 2021


	11. Encounters

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 11: Encounters

**XxxX**

Optimus remained silent as he drove. He did not ask her where she wanted to go, and he doubted she lacked a destination. He knew the feeling of needing to get away, of yearning to drop everything and flee. For most of his Primacy, he fought those urges but occasionally, the need to simply be anywhere else won. Deep in his unspoken thoughts, he wondered if he banished the Allspark, knowing he would have to leave Cybertron to retrieve the relic.

**XxxX**

She did not care where they went as long as they were away. On a nearly subconscious level, she registered the "Welcome to California" sign, but it meant nothing to her. Sira remained curled in the seat, her head resting against the window. She looked out without seeing, the images in her head blinding her to her surroundings. Her coat wrapped around her to drive away a coldness that had little to do with the weather. Safely cocooned within this giant, she allowed herself to mourn and let the riot of emotions envelope her. Furious and disheartened, she would never know about her people or much about herself. The retching realization she might be the last of her kind. Confusion as she tried to reconcile the parent she loved with the man who hurt her to keep her fearful. Shame at her actions and the paralyzing fear she lived under all her life. Timid hope that she may have found a life with the Autobots and a makeshift family. The denied need to belong and the possibility of crushing rejection. 

Her chest ached and squeezed her lungs until breathing became difficult. Muscles trembled, and pain shot through her head from clenching her jaws. She cried until she could not cry anymore. So, she sat and stared out the window as the sun burned the landscape. Electrical poles and buildings blurred past, anonymous and monotonous their shapes interrupted the landscape with such frequency, they became a visual rhythm easily ignorable. Drained and exhausted, the gentle thrumming of Optimus's engine almost lulled her to sleep.

"I consider you a friend," echoed throughout the cab and jerked Sira out of her trance.

"What?" she startled, lifting her head off the cold glass and blinked.

"You wanted to know if you were a toy or a pet. You are neither. I consider you a friend."

Sira's lips parted into a silent circle, her mind trying to catch up to the discussion. "Thank you," The words stumbled out of her. "You are probably the first person to ever say that to me." Her breath hitched as a new salvo of conflicting emotions tightened around her. She stuttered, then blurted out, "Optimus, I'm sorry. I said some nasty things back there. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you."

Prime pulled off the road and into a truck stop. His massive shape softly bounced over the crumbling parking lot. He chose a space halfway to the building, where they sat under a sign that blinked "Open 24 Hours" and advertised gas prices and which brand of beer was on sale.

"You do not have to apologize. I am here for you." The Prime's formless voice weighed with deep concern. "I do consider you one of mine, as I do the humans on base. Sira, I am the Prime of Cybertron; for better or worse, it is my duty to look after all those around me and stationed beneath me. Once, that encompassed an entire planet," his words faded slightly. "I cannot change what or who I am; just know that I have only your well-being at spark. And some of what you said is accurate. I have kept you 'under my thumb.' I want to make sure you are safe and adjusting. I am sorry for my mistakes; it has been a long time since I called a femme of any species a friend." 

A tiny smile graced Sira's face, followed by a deep sigh. "I doubt I will make a good friend," she mumbled more to herself than the mech. The words stung; the harsh truth of her life did not prepare her for friendship or even thinking she deserved it. Quickly she pressed her hands against her eyes to keep a new stream from flowing. Patting the dash, she stated, "I need a drink and to use the restroom, please."

The door next to her opened, and she slid out of the seat, leaving her sword behind. Stretching stiff legs as she walked towards the truck stop, she counted the change in her coat pocket. 

**_XxxX._ **

Almost everyone glanced up when she walked into the diner, the weight of their eyes on her. She did not blame them; she wore tiny satin shorts and a strappy tank top, a matching set in bright red. Pulling the coat around her, she tried to hide the pajamas from view. Nothing could be done about her bare and dirty feet. Most of the patrons continued to stare and shared whispered words she struggled to ignore. 

She hurried to the women's restroom and locked the door behind her. Sira made a quick stop to one of the toilet stalls after removing the coat. Standing in front of the mirror, a woman with red, swollen eyes, blotched skin; and disheveled hair stared back at her. A line of dirt on her right cheek blended into a smudge of grime trailing down her neck. Dust discolored the narrow lace edging her top. No wonder people stared. "Fuck," she whispered to the woman in the mirror.

Turning on the tap, she cupped her hands under the water and splashed it on her face. Adding soap and scrubbing erased the dirt. Nothing could be done about the hair. 

"Get a fucking grip on yourself," she scolded the reflection. "Yeah, this shit hurts, but you know all about pain; y'all are old friends. Yeah, the world shits on everyone; why should it be any different for you? It's not like you can go to a therapist and talk about possibly being the last of a species, and it ain't like you wanted kids anyway." Tears began to well in her eyes, so many things taken from her before she even had a chance to consider them. 

Wiping the tears away, she snapped at herself, "Just fucking stop it. Move on; nothing can be done." But how to "move on," how to break out of the only path she ever knew?

A bang against the bathroom door made her jump. "This is a public bathroom. Unlock the door."

"Sorry," Sira yelled back. "Give me a second." Running her fingers through her wild mane of red hair, she decided that it was time to return to Optimus. She turned off the water and shrugged on her coat. Unlocking the door, she opened it. 

A silver-haired matron frowned at her; the annoyed gaze traveled up and down her disheveled and barely dressed body. "About time," the lady snapped and pushed past. 

Sira tiptoed along the edge of the small diner-gas station until she found what she wanted. Standing in front of the bottled drink cooler, trying to decide what she could afford. Crying left her parched and nauseous, so she chose a bottled tea. 

A firm hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped at the contact. Spinning, she saw the hand belonged to a stout, middle-aged man. His expansive stomach made the buttons on his shirt pull and gap. "Miss," he starts, "Is that the truck you came in?" His thumb pointing out the window and towards the camouflaged Autobot Commander.

She gripped the bottle with both hands, brandishing it as a shield between them. "The blue and red flame job? Yes, he's my ride." She answered politely, not sure what the stranger wanted.

"Miss, you look awful." He slipped a business card between her fingers pressed against the plastic bottle. "You don't have to stay in this life. You can get out. There are people who can help. I know how some men can get. You can stay in here, and we'll make it clear he needs to leave." The grey eyes held genuine concern for her.

Sira looked around, all eyes focused on her, meals and conversations forgotten. She twisted her fingers and read the card. It belonged to a ministry group claiming they specialized in helping drug addicts, prostitutes, and those in need. Realization hit home. What else would they think she was, dressed in nearly nothing. "No, no. I'm OK. He's a good, gentle person. We're not fighting. I … I'm not a hooker or a druggy. It's been a crap day, and he stopped here to let me use the restroom. It's fine; we are headed home - to our home. Thanks."

She moved to leave, but the trucker's rough hands gently grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping her in place. "Are you sure?"

He smelled of tobacco and of the sickly-sweet rot of cancer. This kind soul would soon snuff out of existence. Sira wanted to cry again. She just patted his hand, knowing it was too late for a doctor to repair the damage.

A tight smile pulled at her lips. "It's OK. It's good to see people trying to help others. Go home to your family and tell them you love them." She handed him back the card, "Save this for someone else."

The man released her, but his eyes still searched hers. "Keep the card; we have others. May God bless you and keep you safe."

Embarrassed, Sira looked away, wanting to pay for her drink and leave. Seeing the cash register, she hurried towards it and tossed a couple of dollars in coins on the counter. Quickly walking to the door, she kept her head down, focused on the tiles beneath her bare feet. Once out the door, she bolted, running towards Optimus. As she neared, he opened the door, and she jumped into his cab. Through the windshield, she could see the man and several others watching her from inside the diner. 

**_XxxX._ **

She did not know where they were, but road signs mentioned Tranquility, Nevada, more frequently as the mile markers increased in their count. They headed home, and she wanted to find a shower, change of clothes, and food in that order. Staring at the rugged land, she occasionally saw a buteo either gliding the air thermals or perched in a fence post or shrub. 

Exhausted and inattentive, Sira nearly missed seeing the bright flash.

Optimus swerved, his tires sliding off the road and tipping onto the shoulder at an awkward angle. 

Sira's head hit the window, then slid out of the chair and landed painfully on the gear shift. Before she could yell, brilliant light seared her sensitive eyes as the detonation rang in her ears. Covering her head, the woman stayed crumpled in the floorboard. 

The Autobot screeched to a sliding halt. Throwing the passenger door open, he yelled, "OUT!"

Sira did not question. She grabbed her sword and tumbled to the ground. Landing hands and knees on the sharp gravel, she unsheathed her sword before she stood. Near her, the grinding of metal punctuated the Prime's shift to his normal, robotic form. She looked towards her companion; smoke and tiny arcs of electricity seeped through gaps in his armor.

"You're hurt," Sira yelled, running in the road to help but realized she did not know what to do for him. 

Sira spun at the sound of squealing tires behind her. A police car raced towards them. The second of relief, thinking help had arrived, vanished when two more missiles whizzed past her, launched from the cruiser. The first one missed Optimus as the other exploded in his left side. The roar of pain and fury reverberated across the dry land. 

Widening her stance, Sira prepared to meet the threat head-on. Pulling her lips back, she exposed long fangs and sharp carnassials; a challenging growl rumbled deep in her chest. She watched the police car race towards her and reversed her grip on the sword. She stilled her thoughts. Entering a quiet place within herself, the forge of creation opened for her. The world slowed. She sensed energy flowing through the iron of her blood, across the calcium of her bones, and into the cold blade of her sword. Nothing else existed but her and the adversary.

The police car roared towards her, the engine screaming hate as it neared.

She breathed slowly, judging the narrowing distance between them. The black grill, only seconds from striking her, she pivoted out of the way. A calculated move no human could make.

The police car rushed past her, the hem of her coat rubbing against the metal. She struck, plunging her blade downward and past her hip. The ancient edge slipped into the living metal aided by the power she carried within her. The vehicle's forward momentum tore against the blade, opening a long gash. For a fleeting moment, she felt the hate and malice radiating from the enemy. The ink of his vehemence tainted her, leaving an oily residue in her thoughts. She pulled her sword, wanting to break the link between them.

Twisting to follow her prey, Sira witnessed a monstrous, glowing sword fall from the heavens and slice into the cruiser. Bounding backward, she adjusted her grip on the pummel to defend against the new threat. 

Optimus Prime towered above her, his sword pinned the Decepticon through the hood. The police car screamed and raged, tires smoking as he freed himself from the blade. Wounded, the Decepticon hastily retreated and disappeared into the desert.

Panting heavily, Sira looked up. A mask covered half of Optimus's face, leaving only his brightly glowing optics visible. They darkened and frozen fury radiated from him in waves, forcing her to retreat a few steps when he turned his gaze towards her.

The Autobot pulled his blade free from the highway. The weapon left a great, violent wound in the asphalt. The smell of hot tar hung in the air. "That was stupid," he snapped at her

"What was I supposed to do? You are injured..." Sira snarled back, pointing towards his smoking shoulder. 

He interrupted her, "It was stupid taking on Barricade. He would rip you apart just to watch you bleed. You should have run and let me deal with the threat."

Sira snapped her mouth shut, biting off her vile retort. She walked to where she tossed the scabbard and sheathed her sword. She slung the blade across her back. Rattled from the attack, her misplaced anger threatened to explode through her words.

"Sira," he called to her.

"Shut up, Optimus. I don't want to hear it," she snarled at the Autobot, refusing to look at him.

"Sira, please stop."

"Stop what?" She turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. 

Optimus held his injured shoulder but stared intently at her. "Please stop what you are doing; it is uncomfortable."

Wrinkling her face, Sira did not understand what he meant. The cold crackle of anger no longer surrounded him, and it dawned on her. He could feel her power, the same power she used to shape metal and attack the Decepticon. She never closed off the energy, wasting and draining her reserves. She would pay for the oversight later. With a snap, she pulled her power back to her and slammed a hermetic lid on top. "Oh shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't know."

The Prime slowly turned into a battered semi. He rolled towards her. "I am not mad at you. I just don't want the Decepticons to hurt you like they have hurt so many others." A door opened, offering her a ride home.

Sira climbed into the cab and collapsed. "Are you OK to drive? I mean, can you make it?" Her entire body shook. The day's events had left her weak, mentally and physically. Soon she would collapse, but her concern for him took precedence.

"I will make it," came the hollow answer.

They sat in silence as he pulled onto the road. A pair of Lamborghinis shot past them, twins traveling impossibly fast in the direction of the fleeing police car.

March 2021

**XxxX**

**Author’s Notes:**

Thank you to everyone reading and following. 

I am almost halfway through with the rewrites, but not the posting. I bounce between final edits and writing, because editing is so much fun (sarcasm) Currently, I am scrapping and redoing a three maybe four-chapter arc that needed a lot of love/help. 


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